


The Song of the Wandering Frasers

by abreathofsnowandashes



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Mention: Brianna Randall, Mention: Faith Fraser, TW: Child loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2018-12-23 03:06:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11980785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abreathofsnowandashes/pseuds/abreathofsnowandashes
Summary: What if Frank didn’t die that night? Instead Claire discovers that he had found proof of Jamie being alive and kept it from her. What does she do with that information? Canon divergence.





	1. A Fire in My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Tumblr: abreathofsnowandashes.tumblr.com
> 
> Notes:
> 
> 1) This takes place immeadiately after the fight Claire and Frank have about him wanting to take Bree to England. 
> 
> 2) We will deal with Frank for a bit but its all in the name of that noble cause, angst, and even though he features, I think it’s pretty clear where everyone’s affections lie.
> 
> 3) The title is taken from the poem The Song of the Wandering Aengus by W.B. Yeats. It’s one of my favourite poems and tells the story of Aengus, setting out to find his true love, not stopping until he does so. It reminded me of a certain couple.

_I went out into the hazel wood, because a fire was in my head_

 

* * *

It was close to 3am when Frank finally returned home. He had gotten in the car not knowing where he was going to, only knowing that he needed to get away from Claire and the sound of that word ricocheting inside his head.

_No. No. No._

The roads were lined treacherously with black ice and he skidded almost into a ditch. He’d managed to gain control of the car but he was still slightly shaken from the near miss. He wanted nothing more than to go to bed and put this entire wretched night behind him.

He entered the house quietly, hoping to make his way to bed undetected. However, as he moved away from the front door he turned and saw Claire in his study, sitting in front of the fire on one of his leather armchairs. She held a tumbler of whisky in her hand and stared down at a pile of papers in her lap, worrying a corner of the page with her fingertips. He looked behind her and could see his desk was torn open, his papers and things strewn about in a mess. She looked up and stared at him for a long minute, face resolute and fierce.

“We need to talk, Frank.”

She spoke in a mild manner but Frank could hear the closely held fury beneath her words and he felt his own anger rise up within him in response.

“This is an unacceptable invasion of privacy, I won't stand for it,” he said as he moved swiftly into the room to take what she held in her lap.

“Sit down then,” she said icily, pushing out the armchair across from her with her bare foot. It was an order, not an invitation.

“Claire…”

“I insist.”

She got up and poured herself another finger of whisky and a second one for him. She handed it to him, not even bothering to look at him, as she returned to her seat. Frank accepted the whisky and eyed her warily as he sat down.

“I've said all I have to say about Brianna and-”

“This isn't about Brianna. At least not entirely.”

At this Frank was baffled by all these theatrics.

“Then what in the name of God is the matter?”

She took a sip of her drink, running her finger over something written on the paper before her and the then deliberately placed the sheets in front of him.

“The roll of inmates for Ardsmuir prison, dated 1754.”

“Now Claire…”

“Don't you dare ‘Now Claire’ me” she said coldly over the rim of her glass, eyes boring into him.

Frank, an unusually pale man by any rate, went snow white in the face. His own irritation now brought to the fore, he exploded up from the chair, “You went through my office? How dare you! I -”, before he could finish that thought Claire leapt from her seat and cut him off. “How dare I? _How dare I_?” Her nostrils flared as she moved up right into his face, spitting her fury at him. For a second Frank was certain that she would strike him. “You threaten to take _my_ daughter to bloody England and you think I will have nothing to say about it? You are damn fucking right I went through your files! But you, _you_ … you keep _this_ from _me_?”

“Of course I kept it from you!”, a lifetime of hurt washed over in him as rage. “I have been competing with a ghost and coming up short for nearly twenty years! If I showed you this you would have been on the first plane to Scotland with Bree. And I will die before I let you pull my daughter through this , this--”

“ _Jamie’s_ daughter! And _mine_!” she said coolly, narrowing her eyes at him, daring him to challenge her.

The sound of the Scot’s name on her lips felt like a physical blow. He stood back, reeling as if he had truly been struck.

“How long have you known?”

He hesitated in answering, having carried this secret inside him for so long he felt suddenly wary, bereft even, of giving it voice. However, with Claire standing before him, furious and demanding, he knew that he could protect it no longer and so finally he spoke the truth.

“Ten years.”

Claire gasped, her hands flew to her mouth and she staggered back and away from the chair. It was as though he had shot her through the heart. Her eyes filled with tears and finally her face, no longer able to hold itself together in anger, collapsed with grief.

“Ten years. _Oh God, Ten years_.” she said to herself, stricken in disbelief.

She turned to him and her eyes narrowed once more. He saw genuine disgust there and was taken aback. He had imagined it in her face for so long he was startled by the clarity of the real thing.

“How? When?” she asked, her voice rough with emotion.

“In Paris. After that day in the graveyard. I went back to see what you had been looking at and I found the grave of… of…” She held up her hand to stop his words. He thought perhaps she couldn't bear to hear the sound of her daughter’s name come out of his mouth. “Your face, it… no one could manufacture that kind of grief. So I began looking and I found him, and you… _then_.”

 

* * *

 

Paris of 1956 was not the Paris of 1744, nor even of 1944. Even still, Claire felt as though she was being met by ghosts at every turn. Frank, invited to speak at a conference at the Sorbonne, insisted they use the opportunity to enjoy the city. With Bree away at summer camp and Claire having a short break from medical school for the summer - any hope Claire had of finding a reasonable excuse to not go to Paris was quickly squashed. She had not returned to the city since she and Jamie had fled it, battered and bruised by the events that had transpired there. The thought of setting foot in the French capital once more, where so much was lost, had given rise to the dreams again. Each night it was a different; Louise’s face as she took Faith from her arms, Fergus weeping when she finally learned the truth, and the long walk away from Louis’ bedroom. Each one worse than any nightmare in their haunting reality.

So it was with a reluctant, fretful heart that on the second last day of their trip, when she could run from it no longer, she found herself outside the gates of the L’Hôpital des Anges. She eyed the grounds warily as she clutched a small bunch of tulips to her chest. L’Hôpital was now used as a museum of sorts. The grounds were largely as she remembered them and the graveyard surrounding the church had been kept clean and tidy. The relief of this obvious attention and care kept her moving through the gate and towards the gravestones. She did not think she could have held herself together if she had found her little girl surrounded by two centuries of weeds, debris and neglect.

She paused for a moment at the grave of Mother Hildegarde, just long enough to leave a flower and say a short prayer for the soul of her friend. She then turned and moved away from the graves of the nuns and headed further down the path until she came to the spot, just at the foot of a tumble of crumbling steps, where her daughter lay.

“Hello, my darling. It’s Mummy.”

Claire’s voice was a ragged whisper as she fought to speak through the lump that ached at the back of her throat. Just as the grounds had been neatly kept, she found Faith’s grave lovingly maintained by the caretaking staff of L’Hôpital. Immeasurably grateful for this she made a mental note to leave a sizeable donation to the organisation that had been entrusted with its care. Claire took a shaky breath and knelt down before of her daughter. She placed the bouquet still clutched in her hand on the stone, in the same spot where Jamie had once placed the St. Andrew Apostle spoon.

“I've brought you some flowers, my love. I hope you like them.”

Claire’s voice cracked with emotion and tears blinded her before they gently rolled down her face. She sniffed and wiped the back of her hands across her eyes. With the tenderness of a mother stroking her baby’s cheek Claire traced the faded letters of her daughter’s name with the tip of her index finger. “Faith Fraser” she whispered, “My beautiful girl.” The endearments seemed to fall off Claire’s tongue, as though she was trying to fill these few precious moments with all the words of love she had never gotten to speak to her daughter. The tears sprung forth once more and Claire let out the sob that had been bubbling up within her. She had learned long ago that to lose a child was to be trapped in a prism of grief. At every turn there was a new and sharper dimension of agony to endure. There were days when she mourned the loss of Faith herself, of the life snuffed out before it ever had a chance to sweeten the world with its presence. There were days when she mourned her own loss of being Faith’s mother, a gentle dream she had woven within herself from the moment she discovered she was with child. The pain of having that ripped from her very skin was a wound she would carry into eternity. Not even the balm of creating another life could heal the loss of the first. And then there were days where she wanted to howl and rage at the barbarous cruelty of a world where she must place the child that she had sheltered under the warm, comforting drumbeat of her heart, into the cold, lonely silence of the Earth. She had carried on with her life by facing each individual grief at a time. Parsing them into manageable lumps of desolation that could be forced down and softened by the routine of day to day living. But here, in this place, all her miseries rushed together and faced with the realities of her past life, a life she had tried so desperately to shut away in her mind, she found all she could do was cry. And so she did just that. She cried sorrowfully, with wracking sobs that shook her body and petered off into stuttering, hiccuping gasps. She cried for the daughter she had lost. She cried that she must leave her here again, alone, not knowing the next time she would return. She knew it did not truly matter where her daughter lay, no matter where on earth her grave was, Faith was as not in Claire’s care or protection. But deep within her lay a glimmer of a dream of Faith safely nestled among her family at Lallybroch. Occasionally this thought would spring into her mind and bring an immediate feeling of peace to Claire. If Faith could not be in Claire’s arms, at least she would be home. Before she could follow the notion any further she heard footsteps approaching behind her and knew them instantly as Frank’s deliberate, quick stride echoing on the stone footpath.

From several feet behind he called out, “Claire! Is everything all right? What are you doing down there?” Hastily wiping the tears from her face she called back, “Yes, I'm fine. I’ll be up in a minute.” There was a pause, she could feel his hesitancy and doubt coming off him in waves and she knew he was considering her intently when he replied, “I’ll wait for you at the gate, don't be long.”

“Yes, all right, I’ll be right there.”

She cursed him under breath, wanting nothing more than to remain with her daughter. However she did not want Frank to come down looking for her and so she moved onto her knees and knelt over the grave with her right palm flat against the stone. “I must go now, my love. But I promise I will be back as soon as I can. I love you with all my heart and keep you there always.” She was about to rise when a thought emerged urgent and insistent in her mind. “Please, if… if he's with you, look after your father and tell him… tell him I love him and that we’re safe... and that I miss him every second.”

Finally, with the tips of her fingers, she placed a kiss on the gravestone in farewell. She rose, dusting off the bits of grass and leaves that had clung to her clothes. The knees of her Capri trousers were stained green from the grass and she thought faintly that she was happy that she would carry a mark of her time here with her home. With one last long look she turned and went to meet Frank at the gate.

* * *

 

"The next morning I went back to look. I saw her name and I began searching. After a time I found him, and you, and so I…  I was forced to accept that all you had said was true.” He paused here to look up at Claire and found her face red and blotchy from crying, even still she stared back at him, eyes blazing and defiant.

“If you were so determined to keep this from me why did you keep all of this evidence here, right under my nose? Why not just tell me?”

He looked down again at his drink and spoke in a hushed tone reserved for the confessional. “Once I knew it was all true, the things you had told me, there was a part of me that, in some perverse way, almost wished I could see you with him. Just to see that version of you. You seemed... so alive, so vital."

"I was."

He waited for her to finish her sentence but after a few seconds he realised that was it. A simple statement of fact. She would not spare him the truth now. Not when he had held it from her for so long.  


Finally, the fight gone out of him, Frank sat heavily on the couch, contemplating the drink sat snugly in palm of his hand .

"I've read those pages a thousand times, trying to find you in them. After a time I realised that I was keeping them not as proof of him, but as a way to find you. I thought if I studied the pages enough I would uncover some part of the woman I knew and I'd be able to bridge this gap between us.” He held his hands out, gesturing to the study and the empty space that separated them, her on one side of the room, he on the other. Held together in this house, by the love of a daughter and the memory of the love of each other. He let his hand fall back to his side limply, as if the strength had seeped right out of him. “But I never did find you. I certainly couldn't find the Claire who went through the Stones, not the Claire who came back, either."

Silence befell the room. After a moment he continued. "The fierceness you displayed with him. _For_ him. You broke him out of Wentworth bloody Prison for God’s sake.” He tried to keep the trace of grudging awe out of his voice but he knew he wasn't succeeding. He was loathe to let her know how downright stunned he had been when he had found James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie _bloody_ Fraser and so had to accept that all Claire had told him was true. That his wife, with her head in her plant pots, ruining his textbooks with specimen, could summon so ferocious a courage and passion as to do the things she claimed. Truth be told it knocked him straight off his feet. But prideful fool that he was, he would have been damned before he would let her know that. And now it was too late. “I never once roused that in you, did I?" he asked her, looking up from his drink.

Claire did not speak at first and instead she stood quietly, considering him.

“I got myself captured by the Redcoats trying to get back to you. Just after my wedding to Jamie.” He didn't know why she was giving him the gift of this knowledge now. He thought perhaps it was because there was a sense of an ending in this room. Whatever they had been holding onto in Boston would be laid to rest before night’s end. Even still he could not stop his head from snapping up in shock. “Got beaten and nearly raped by your filthy, bastard of an ancestor for my trouble, too. Not to mention almost getting Jamie and all of the MacKenzie’s killed when they rescued me. I told you all of this… when I came back. I tried to get back to you. I did nothing else for months. I tried, Frank. I bloody tried!” She slammed her fist on the table she was leaning against. He could see it, the burn of years of his not believing her, of not understanding her, lay just under the surface of her skin, rising to a gentle boil, ready to spill over at any second.

“When did you stop trying to get back?” he asked in response.

The question jarred her out of the burning resentment she had been stoking within herself. He had not asked the question cruelly but he watched Claire flinch at it as if it was a lash upon her skin, snapping her back to attention.

She did not insult him with false apology but she did at least have the decency to look ashamed for a moment. “Not long after that incident at Fort William, with Randall.” He saw her grimace at the name, like it was a filthy, vile word, poisoning the atmosphere by its very utterance. Dazedly he wondered how she had borne the name for nearly two decades when it conjured such a visceral  reaction in her. “After that, Jamie and I…” She trailed off, her gaze locked on her silver ring. She nodded her head ever so slightly and seemed to have made a decision with herself in those few seconds. She looked up at him finally and held his gaze squarely. “By then leaving Jamie was impossible. I tried very hard not to fall in love with him. But it was too late and I knew that as much as I loved you, and I _did_ love you, Frank… Jamie… Jamie was the rest of me.”

“Was?”

The question hung in the hair between them, buoyed on the last ounce of hope he possessed. He hated himself for offering her this final shred of his dignity but the time for playing it cool had long since past and he knew that this was the last chance he had at reclaiming his wife. _His_ Claire.

It was for nought. She never even looked up from her hands, instead she slowly ran the index finger of her left hand over the skin at the base of her right thumb.

“Always,” she finally said in a whisper that was sacred and precious.

 _A vow_ , he thought, faintly.

But Frank knew she was not making it to him.

It was the killing blow. The word ran him through with the sharpness of its certainty. Its finality slicing him open and spilling his guts out into his open palms. He released a gasping breath, the last dying sob of a man who knew it was the end. He felt the tears burn the back of his eyes and found he had no will to blink them away. He felt small and weak here, sitting on the couch while she stood tall, strong and resolute as a statue.

Neither spoke for several minutes. All their secrets heaped messily between them now.  There was no pretense to hide behind any longer and they were both at a loss as to what to do without it. Wearily Frank stood, hands on his knees to propel himself up and off the couch. “Well, that's that then, isn't it?” She didn't answer. There was no more to say. Yet her silence bothered him, galled in him that she could stand there and oversee the end of their marriage with an almost clinical detachment.

He walked out of the study and had his foot on the first step of the stairs when he turned around, hand on the banister. “You’ve made a fool of me, Claire Beauchamp.” he said. “For our whole lives. An absolute fool.” He didn't wish her to respond but the look of sorrow on her face jolted him. Seeing her now truly for maybe the first time, he saw she held within her sorrow that he had not begun to comprehend. Still, he remained silent, refusing to offer her solace or ease her anguish, needing to hurt her, to create parity between them. Even if it must be one of pain.

“Good night, Claire.”

With that he slouched up the stairs. At the entrance to the guest bedroom he heard her begin to cry, a gasping, ugly sound that he knew would leave her shoulders shaking and body wracked. He paused for only a moment, eyes closed and listened. Then gently, but deliberately, he closed the door and went to bed.


	2. O'Malley's Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire is haunted by the knowledge of Jamie's survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to all the lovely comments and kind words on the first installment of this fic. I could not have wished for a more wonderful response.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> 1) We will deal with Frank for a bit but its all in the name of that noble cause, angst, and even though he features, I think it’s pretty clear where everyone’s affections lie.
> 
> 2) The title is taken from the poem The Song of the Wandering Aengus by W.B. Yeats. It’s one of my favourite poems and tells the story of Aengus, setting out to find his true love, not stopping until he does so. It reminded me of a certain couple.

In the midst of their happiness at Lallybroch, Jamie once told Claire of the bean sidhe; the faerie woman who heralds death.

For weeks, _months_ after she returns, in her dreams she was the Wailing Woman, walking the length of Culloden Moor, keening his name; a feeble harbinger of his doom.

As she walked through the mouldering piles of their kin, she called to him, but was met with nothing but the howling of the wind and the unbearable silence of death.

Night after night after night she cried out to him until her throat was raw. Until she was tearing his name up from the clutches of her heart and the two syllables that encompassed all that he was passed her lips as ragged pleas.

Ja-mie

_Ja-mie_

_J a - **m i e**_

Every night for a hundred nights she haunted that moor.

Begging him to find her.

To haunt her, too.

* * *

Hours after Frank had gone to bed and she was alone with her ghosts, in her dreams Claire walked Culloden Moor once again. On the couch she curled around her broken heart, the curve of her body arching from the top of her head to the backs of her knees, while her slender legs jutted out straight as arrows. Her whole body took the form of a question mark, punctuating her very being. 

Her entire existence thrown into question.

* * *

She did not sleep again that night, nor the night after. Instead, she poured herself into work. Taking shifts and surgeries with a ferocity and stamina she had not felt since her days as a resident. She left messages for Frank and Brianna, too much of a coward to face either one.

In one fell swoop her world had been set off its axis and she felt as if she was careening back in time, to those first horrible, chaotic months after her return. When her body was here in the twentieth century but her heart, her mind… they were roaming aimlessly in the Highlands.

It was three nights later before her body succumbed to exhaustion, and once again she dreamed of Culloden.

She woke in an on-call room screaming Jamie’s name. The taste of blood in her mouth and the smell of burning bodies in her nose. She did not open her eyes, instead she took a deep breath and tried to quell the urge to vomit that was crawling up her throat. When she did finally look about the room she found Joe Abernathy sitting vigil in an armchair, a novel open on his lap and warm eyes starring at her with concern.

“Do you always watch me sleep or is this a new, particularly lecherous, habit you are cultivating?” she asked him with some asperity.

“Well, you know I _have_ been looking for a new hobby,” he replied, mouth twitching in amusement.

“Joe-” she began wearily but he interrupts her.

“OK, Lady Jane, I don’t know what this is,” he gestured towards her, a look of bafflement on his face, as he moved his hand up and down to take in her general state of dishabille, “But it’s done now. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

Joe had watched her behaviour with the quiet judgement that only a true friend could observe. This respectful observance lasted until a patient complained to a nurse about Claire’s appearance. Looking at her now, Joe really could not fault them. Claire sat hunched on the side of the bed, ragged and unkempt, her eyes bloodshot and her hair erupting into an unruly mass of curls.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she said prissily, and moved to throw the blanket off and get up. Joe was quicker though and was out of the armchair and sitting beside her before she had time to blink.

“Nuh uh, no dice. I have never seen you like this, not even after Bree got hurt with the car. Something’s happened. Something bad.”

Whatever fight Claire intended to put up ebbed from her bones and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to pour her heart out to her friend. She looked up at him, at his kind, good humoured face, and imagined it twisted in horror before she had the words “Standing Stones” out of her mouth.

“I received some shocking news.”

“You don’t say,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

She glared at him with true annoyance and sincerely weighed the merits of pinching his arm. She gritted her teeth as she continued to speak, “It will take me some time to adjust. Thank you for your concern but I assure you, I am perfectly all right.” She made to get up again but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“No, you’re not,” he said matter of factly.

“Joe, please,” she pleaded.

He looked down at her for a moment, considering.

“O’Malleys. Tonight. After work. You and me.”

She glared at him once more, her face doing nothing to hide her exasperation.

_He is like a dog with a bone._

“No, I can’t. I have a colectomy this evening.”

“Great. I’ll scrub in with you and we’ll go afterwards.”

“Joe, I can’t--”

“I’m invoking O’Malley’s Rule, Beauchamp. It’s incontrovertible.”

O’Malley’s Rule was something they had concocted during the early days of residency when the elation of graduating from medical school was swiftly wiped out by the pressure, pace and yes, the prejudice, they had both faced as residents. The rules were very simple. At any point either one of them could invoke O’Malley’s Rule, meaning that they would go to the bar across the street, no questions asked, no excuses, and get rip-roaring drunk. There had been days when it had been the only thing that had kept them both going, but they hadn’t had to use it in years.

Claire sighed, finally beaten down, “Oh you bloody busybody of a man! Fine! O’Malley’s at 8.30pm.” She got up and stormed out of the room, stomping her way down the hall.

“What about the colectomy?” Joe called after her, a shit eating grin on his face.

“Oh do shut up!” she snapped back, and then she was gone around the corner and out of sight.

* * *

 

O’Malley’s was busy, thrumming with the day shift that had just knocked off. Claire arrived first and was lucky enough to grab a booth as a group of nurses from the hospital were leaving.

“Dr. Randall” they all said as they passed her and she nodded back to them. She could  hear them whispering as they headed out the door and she was certain that if she looked over her shoulder she would see them looking back, taking note for tomorrow morning’s gossip rounds.

_To hell with the bloody lot of them._

As Joe walked in the door she caught the attention of the bar keep and signaled for a round.

“Jeez, was this place always such a dive?” he said, sliding into the other side of the booth and looked around at the cracked nuts strewn across the tables and the sawdust that gathered here and there on the floor.

“It’s authentic,” Claire said, throwing some nuts back her throat and munched them in a hopeless ploy to kill time. Thankfully the barkeeper arrived with their drinks, a pitcher of beer and a tray of whisky shots. Claire nodded her thanks, placing one shot in front of Joe and told the barman to keep them coming.

Joe looked at Claire, eyes bulging in his sockets, and watched her down the shot in one gulp. “So we’re doing this,” he said, deadpan.

“There’s no way I can possibly do this sober so yes, Joe, we are indeed, “doing this.” Drink up. You invoke O’Malley’s Rule, you live O’Malley’s Rule.”

Joe couldn’t argue with that and downed his shot, whisky roaring like fire down his throat.

“Son of a bitch,” he said, as he grimaced and shook his head and then turned the empty shot glass upside down on the table.

“OK, LJ, out with it.”

She sighed, finally at the point of decision. She looked up at him and studied his face for a moment, trying to find some indication that he would not have her committed by the time she said her piece.

“This is the way of it, I’m going to tell you something fantastically insane and I need you to listen and not ask any questions until I’m finished. Can you do that?”

Joe was slightly taken aback by her words and demeanour and sat up a little straighter in his seat. He nodded his head, “Yes, I can do that.”

Claire downed one more shot and then finally she began to tell her story.

“It all started 20 years ago, after the War, when I was on my second honeymoon with Frank, in Scotland…”

And so she told him it all. Every sordid, terrifying, unbelievable detail. Of the Stones, of Jamie, of what they had done. She told him of her return and the unbearable, damnable grief, of the endless struggle with Frank and finally of the letter she had found four nights past. She felt a heaviness lift from her at finally telling someone. The same relief she felt when she had unburdened herself to Father Ambrose in the Abbey. She only hoped that Joe was as open to the inexplicable as the Franciscan Brother had been.

When she finished speaking they sat in silence. She braced herself for Joe’s reaction while he simply stared at her and shook his head.

She grew impatient with this after thirty seconds and snapped at him, “Well, aren’t you going to say anything!?”

He turned away from her in the direction of the bar and called for another round of shots. He downed two before he finally answered.

“You know… this actually makes a lot of sense.”

Of all reactions she imagined being met with that night, this was not one of them.

“Makes sense? _Makes sense?_ Are you mad!? This is utterly preposterous!”

Joe grinned at her, “Oh it is as mad as a bag of cats, no question, but I always knew there was… _something_. Something you were holding back. God knows anyone with eyes could see Frank wasn’t Bree’s daddy.”

Claire bristled, “What do you mean!?”

Joe enjoyed seeing his practical, always together friend, scrambling for purchase in a conversation. “Well, **_Dr._** Randall, anyone who knows what to look for can see that Bree and Frank don’t share a single shred of DNA.”

She huffed irritably and fell back into the booth, “So you believe me? You aren’t going to have me committed?”

He didn’t hesitate when he answered her, “I believe you.”

She was baffled, “But why?”

“Why are you trying to talk me out of it? Look, LJ, I have seen you put your hand on a body, close your eyes and hit the diagnostic bulls eye. I have always known that there was something impossible about you. But you are also the most pragmatic, no-nonsense person I have ever known. You didn’t make this up.  I know _that_ much, so it has to be true.”

Claire felt her heart swell with love and gratitude for this man and his friendship.

“Can I ask you something though?” he asked, leaning his arms on the table.

She nodded her assent and he continued on, “Why did you tell me now, you could have brushed me off if you really wanted to.”

“You mean apart from your browbeating and blackmail?”

He chuckled softly, “Yes, apart from that.”

She smiled good humouredly at him but she grew quiet and somber as she considered his question. After a moment she answered, so softly he could barely hear her in the din of the bar. “I am telling you because… because, I need someone to know how much I love him and not hate me for it.”

Before he knew what he was doing he was up and sliding into the other side of the booth and wrapping Claire in his arms. “Hey, it’s OK, hush, it’s OK.” He held her like this for several minutes, letting her cry softly in his arms.

After a while Claire noticed that his shoulders were shaking and she pulled away to find him in the midst of _bona fide_ giggle fit!

“You’re laughing. _You’re laughing?_ I have just poured my heart and soul out to you and you are laughing!” Claire asked in disbelief.

Joe tried vainly to catch his breath and get himself together. He pulled back more fully, “ _I’m not_ , “ he said, biting his tongue, and then after a brief descension into hysterics once more, took a deep breath and said definitively, “ ** _I’m not._** ”

Claire sat back, folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow in challenge.

He chuckled again softly and said, “I’m not, LJ, I swear. It’s just that I know now why you love those racy novels so much; you _lived_ one!”

“I beg your pardon!” Claire said indignantly. “I most certainly did not!”

“Oh yeah? Nurse falls through time only to land in the lap of a strapping warrior type. She fixes him up real nice, they fall hopelessly in love and have epic, unprecedented adventures, until fate cruelly rips them apart. How is that not like one of our books? It’s the _Nurse Will See You Now_ meets _The Soldier’s Mistress_ combined.”

Claire was dumbstruck and for the first time in her life was at a loss for words.

“I bet the sex was smokin’ hot too, huh?” Joe said, grinning wickedly.

“Joseph Abernathy!” Claire exclaimed, her face red with embarrassment.

“Oh what, you’re denying it?” he asked, voice dripping with disbelief.

Claire opened her mouth to respond and found she was once again at a total loss to say anything, “I… Mmmphmm.”

“That’s what I thought,” he replied smugly.

* * *

 

“Are you going to tell Bree?” he asked after a moment of silence.

Claire leaned forward and put her head in her hands. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve lied to her. I don’t think she will ever forgive me.”

“You had a pretty damn good reason to, Claire. She will understand… eventually.”

“Brianna?” she asked skeptically. “Have you met her?”

“Admittedly, there have been some… _incidents_ , where forgiveness was not the utmost of her virtues, I’ll admit it.”

“Joe, she reported us to Child Services when she discovered Father Christmas wasn’t real.”

Not to be deterred, Joe maintained his supportive enthusiasm, “She has a definite sense of right and wrong, that can’t be denied.”

Claire sighed wistfully. “She gets that from Jamie. He was the most honourable person I’ve ever known. He wore it like a cloak.”

Joe smiled sadly at Claire and the far-a-way tone her voice had taken on.

“He sounds like a helluva guy, LJ.”

Claire looked up at him and gave him her own sad smile and said softly, “He was, Joe. He really was.”

They sat in silence for a few moments and then she asked him the question that had been on the tip of her tongue for days. “What will I do?”

“What do you want to do?”

She thought about that for a moment, closed her eyes and saw all her options laid out before her. The answer was just there, as obvious and inevitable as the beat of her own heart. She had known it as soon as she read the letter. As soon as she had seen his name in print.

She would keep looking.

She would find him.

Everything else… well, everything else would just be _everything else._

“Thank you,” Claire whispered quietly, her hand reached for Joe’s on top of the table and her eyes filled with tears of gratitude. “For everything.”

He squeezed her hand back and leaned in to kiss her temple, “Anytime, Lady Jane, anytime.”

* * *

 

Claire returned home to find Frank waiting up in the parlour, alone, and well into his cups.

“You've been drinking,” he said quietly as she put down her medical bag in its usual spot beside the door.

“So have you,” Claire replied, eyeing the half bottle of Glenfiddich on the coffee table.

“Where is Bree?” she asked, removing her coat and sitting down on the couch across from him.

“In bed. Perhaps you could have asked after her four days ago.”

Anger boiled under her skin but she bit her tongue and replied in a clipped tone through gritted teeth.

“I checked in on her and I know she is capable of looking after herself. I needed time to think.”

He smiled a sneering, mirthless smile and leaned forward to pour himself another drink. He didn’t offer one to her.

“And what are the fruits of all this contemplation?” he asked, words slurred very slightly around the edges.

“I’ve decided. I will allow you to bring Brianna to England.”

His head snapped up in shock and he spilled his drink sloppily on the table. He looked at her intently, waiting for the other foot to drop.

“And I will join you there, also.” she finished, finally.

His heart stopped dead in his chest. He expected this and yet...

“You’re going to look for him.” he said flatly. A statement of fact rather than a question.  “Are you going to go back?”

“I don't know,” she answered honestly. “It will depend on what I find.”

He nodded dumbly into his drink and took the last gulp into his mouth.

“And what about Bree? You'd just leave her?”

Claire felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach like a cold, heavy stone dropped into a well. She held her head high, not allowing him to see her waver.

“I haven't thought that far ahead, Frank.”

He scoffed into his glass, judgement dripping from every pore of his body.

“Don't you dare judge me. Not after what you have done. You have no idea what it was like to-”

He pinned her to the spot with his eyes, fierce but haunted.

“I kissed my wife goodbye one morning and she disappeared into thin air. For three years I had to live with that. With the worry, the bone deep fear that you had been hurt or worse. And when it wasn't that, it was the loneliness and suspicion or the pity of those around me.

Do not begin to tell me that I do not know what it is to lose.”

She sat stone still on the couch and waited a moment before she responded, allowing herself time to absorb his words.

“Was it revenge then?” she asked, “To hurt me as I had hurt you?” She paused, as if she expected him to answer. “Well congratulations, Frank, you have outdone yourself.”

She got up and gathered her things and walked to the stairs.

“I loved you. More than anything, I loved you,” he said quietly, his chin propped on his chest, his eyes contemplating his hands in his lap.

She stopped where she stood and looked back at him, recalling his words to her four nights past.

“And should I be grateful for that?”

She turned her back to him and made her way up the stairs, leaving him alone once more.


	3. The National Portrait Gallery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth will out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> 1) Brianna will call Claire “Mom” in this. I could write a 4 page rant as to why Mama irks me but lucky for you I will resist.
> 
> 2) Brianna/Roger is not a ship in this story. I don’t buy it in canon so I won’t sell it in fanfiction.
> 
> 3) I didn’t have to time to research art history or even actual history for this and if I’ve gone way off here, then so be it.

“Ye said yer mother is meeting us here, aye?”

It took Brianna a few seconds to register Roger’s question but then she nodded with a disinterested mumble and dodged around a couple loitering at a Vermeer.

“Has anyone ever told ye that yer a scintillating conversationalist?” Roger asked her in amusement.

Brianna rolled her eyes at him. They had been in the National Portrait Gallery for the best part of an hour and she had yet to manage more than a few non-committal grunts in response to his questions or comments. She was touchy, she knew that. She’d _been_ touchy. She also knew it wasn't fair to Roger. Her father’s colleague and son of an old family friend, he had already gone above and beyond with his patience and kindness towards her and was being a nice guy by showing her around. She hadn't made many friends in the three months they had been in England. The least she could do was pay attention to what he said but her frustration with her parents grew within her with every passing day. It was now at the point where the mere mention of them was enough to set her off.

“Who knows with my parents,” she said in exasperation, “I mean, they spend my whole life being so goddamn prim and proper and British and then in the middle of my _Senior Year_ they decide we were moving to Merry Ol’ England, like it's no big deal! And my Mom, do not even start me on my Mom!”

“I didn’t realise I had,” Roger muttered under his breath, but Brianna was on a roll now and would not be deterred.

“She cannot _stand_ my father’s work. She spent my entire childhood fighting tooth and nail to be a surgeon and she has spent every day of the last three months hanging out in the Office of Public Records! So honestly Roger, I have no idea what she is doing!”

Roger opened his mouth to say something and then seemed to think better of it. When he did finally speak he did so in a gentle, soothing tones. One reserved for a particularly volatile toddler or a skittish horse. It made Brianna want to kick his shins.

“Och, maybe yer Mam is trying to make an effort with yer Dad. That's nice, no?”

Brianna laughed, a mirthless, cynical sound that seemed wrong coming from her mouth, even to her own ears.

“They sleep in different rooms and think I don't notice,” she said quietly, “that’s about a million miles away from ‘nice’.”

Roger stopped her with a hand to her arm and looked at her with genuine sadness and concern reflected in his eyes.

“Brianna, I--” he began to say but she waved him off.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to unload my pathetic life on you. For the rest of the day there won’t be any more whining. Promise.” She emphasised this by crossing her finger over her heart and holding her hand up as if swearing an oath.

Roger continued to look at her with worry but after a few seconds his face softened and he smiled at her kindly. “Come on,” he said, “my favourite section is just down the hall.”

Brianna nodded and followed after Roger. When she rounded the corner she found a long room filled with framed faces staring back at her. From ceiling to floor, they came in all shapes and sizes and Brianna felt the knot of tension in her chest ease. Every other aspect of her life may have spun out of control but this, _this_ still made sense. She moved slowly through the crowd, taking her time, savouring each piece she encountered. The colour choice here, the angle there, right down to the names the artists’ chose for titles. Each one told a story she felt winding its way around her. Weaving into her subconscious to eventually become new stories told by her own brush and palette.

Halfway down the room she stopped as she came to a portrait of a young dark haired girl with a small white bird in her hand. There was something so familiar about the painting, almost like deja vu. She was certain she had never seen it before but she felt as if she knew the stroke of the brush that painted the piece so intimately that it could have been done by her own hand. She closed her eyes and could see it, clear as day. The artist standing before the canvas and realising that the hint of pink on the cheeks would warm the whole piece. She was mesmerised by it, so much so she did not notice when her mother approached with Roger by her side, the two of them chattering away companionably.

Later, when Brianna will recall this day she will forget Roger completely, as if he were simply never there. She won’t remember what her mother said to her as she kissed her cheek in greeting or how long she was unconscious. She will remember seeing Claire fall, as if in slow motion, and the way her hands flew to her mouth in shock, her eyes round as if it was a ghost was staring back at her from the canvas. But more than anything, she will remember the sound of the name her mother gasped before she fainted.

“ _Jenny._ ”

* * *

 

The drive back to the house was tense and oppressive. No one dared say a word in the tight confines of the car. Once they reached home Claire bolted from the front seat and made her way straight to the kitchen and proceeded to tear through the cabinets, opening and closing each one until she found a bottle of whisky under the sink. With shaking hands she poured herself a drink, and then another, gulping them down.

“I think I’ll put the kettle on, aye?” Roger said gently, exchanging a look with Brianna.

Brianna stood watching her mother, her shoulders hunched and her hands clinging to the sides of the counter top. She felt at a total loss, as though there was an ocean between them and no way of bridging the distance. She’d never seen her mother like this and she felt the raw chaff of helplessness and anger to realise that she didn't know her mother well enough to even guess what might be wrong or what could possibly help. The hurt and shame of this stoked as nasty, contemptible flame in her heart. One that burned, burned, burned with the resentment that her mother had created this situation. This isolation between parent and child.

Roger coughed, drawing her attention and made a show of casting his eyes towards Claire. _Say something_! She held her hands out in front of her plaintively. _Like what_? He rolled his eyes at her. _ANYTHING_! Her brows knitted in frustration. Finally she moved slowly towards Claire. “Mom,” she said tentatively, ”what's wrong? Are you sick? Or--” A sob erupted from Claire that seemed to have rolled up from the tips of her toes. She tried to stem it by putting the back of her hand to her mouth but her shoulders shook with the effort to hold herself together.

“Oh Mom!”

Before she realised what she was doing Brianna rushed to take her mother in her arms. Dazedly she tried to remember the last time she hugged her mother in affection or solace but could not conjure a memory. Thus rendering the embrace a tentative and awkward affair. However, much to Brianna’s surprise Claire did not fight her, instead she wrapped her arms around her and clung on for dear life. Panic swelled within Brianna and crept into her voice.

“Mom, you need to tell me what's wrong, you're scaring me.”

Claire pulled back and wiped her face with a tissue she had hidden in her sleeve. “I'm sorry, I don't know what has come over me.” She wiped her nose and sniffled until her breathing returned to its normal rhythm. As if on cue, Roger appeared at Claire’s shoulder and put a cup of tea in her hands. She took it gratefully and seemed at once to be soothed by its comforting warmth.

“It was the painting,” Brianna said, breaking the silence of the room and surprising them all. “When you saw the painting you fainted. Does it… does it  mean something to you? Have you seen it before?” Claire’s eyes dropped immediately to star at her lap and when she looked at her once more they were brimming with fresh tears. “Yes… I've seen it before. A long time ago. I never expected to see it again, it was a shock to find it here.”

Brianna was puzzled. She had studied the picture for at least fifteen minutes before her mother arrived, she read the plaque beside it several times. “That portrait has been hanging on that wall for nearly eighty years. Where else could you have seen it?” Brianna watched as her mother’s face drained completely of colour. She paused to think for a moment and then very carefully asked, “Who’s Jenny?”

The effect was immediate, Claire flinched at the name and nearly dropped the cup in her hand.

“Bree, I promised Frank I'd never--.”

All at once a pattern began to emerge before her eyes. The dots seemed to join together, revealing an image previously unseen. 

“Why do you call Daddy ‘Frank’ now? You've been doing it for months.” She moved insistently towards her mother, invading her space, determined to find answers. “Why are we even here? What's going on? You're hiding something from me.”

“Bree, please, I can't do this. Not now.”

“Yes now!” Bree said, exploding with frustration. “You and Daddy uprooted our whole lives to be here and I want to know why!”

She didn't take her eyes off Claire and saw exactly the moment when her mother’s resolve gave way, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

Claire sat her cup down and reached out and clasped Brianna’s hands in hers. “I promised Frank I would never tell you these things, about who you are, but I don't see how I can avoid it any longer.”

Alarm bells sounded in Bree’s head, “Who I am?”

Claire nodded. “I have some things I need to tell you. They will be quite shocking and upsetting and I will take full responsibility for that but I beg that you listen to all I have to say and keep an open mind.”

Bree’s heart tightened in her chest but she nodded in agreement.

“The girl in that painting is Janet Fraser Murray. Jenny. She was my sister-in-law… and your aunt.”

Brianna whipped her hands away from Claire's as if she'd been stung. She took a step back and away from her, furious.

“That's not funny.”

“I’m not being funny, Bree.”

“No. You're not.”

“Brianna, please, I am trying.”

“Mom, that painting is 200 years old. What do you expect me to say?”

“I know how this sounds. I am aware how ludicrous it is but it is the truth. Please, just… just let me tell you everything, from start to finish. Once you've heard it, you can decide how you feel.”

Brianna nodded curtly but she didn't move any closer to her mother, instead she crossed to the other side of the kitchen and leaned back against the counter, her arms folded across her chest. “I’m listening.”

“Before Frank and I moved to Boston, I was married to another man. James Fraser. Jamie. We loved each other... deeply. He is… he’s your biological father.”

She kept her promise and listened to her mother’s story without interruption. 

And later, when she will recall this conversation, she will remember every word.

* * *

 

“Time travel. Through stones.”

“Yes.”

“You're insane.”

Claire flinched as if Brianna had slapped her. Still, to her credit, she held her head high when she responded. “You know I'm not.”

Brianna wavered in the face of her mother's resolve. Needing backup she turned to Roger, who had stood in silence throughout the entirety of Claire’s story.

“Are you buying this?”

Roger, put on the spot, floundered for a response but then all of sudden recognition dawned in his eyes. “The Woman of Balnan,” he said, excitement creeping into his voice.

Claire’s head snapped up and looked at him, “Yes, yes, exactly. You know the song?”

“Oh aye, anyone raised in the Highlands knows that song.” Roger paused for a moment and said in wonder, “My God, it's real. The stories are all real.”

“I don't know about all of them but I can certainly attest to that particular one.”

“Are you two seriously spit balling about this?” Brianna asked, barely containing her fury. “You just told me you are a bigamist, time traveller and I'm the daughter of a guy who fought in the Battle of Culloden!”

“I have it on good authority from a Franciscan Brother that I'm not a bigamist. If that makes you feel any better.”

“It really doesn't!”

“No, I suppose it wouldn't,” Claire replied quietly.

“And Daddy knows? He knows you are looking for James Fraser?”

It was as though a veil of ice descended over her mother’s face. “Yes, he knows,” she said curtly. “He found Jamie several years ago but neglected to inform me.”

“Can you blame him?” Brianna asked.

“Yes, I bloody well can!” Claire said with such vehemence that Brianna gasped.

Her mother's face softened immediately in regret and she rushed to apologise. But this was the final straw for Bree. The urge to run washed over her like a wave and she knew she needed to get out of the house immediately.

“I can’t… I can't do this.”

“Bree, please, Don’t--”

“No, I'm done. Done with this conversation. Done with all of it.”

Claire tried to reach out to her but Brianna railed on her.

“Don't touch me!”

She burst through the door and didn't pause to look behind her.

* * *

 

James Fraser.

The name bounced around her mind like a firefly trapped in a jar. A tiny, insistent light in the midst of darkness.

_Jamie._

If she closed her eyes she could still see the hopeful look on her mother's face as she said the name. As though those two words uttered together could unlock some knowledge buried within Brianna. The soul deep truth of blood and bone.

Brianna, spiteful and cruel in a way that shocked herself, refused to react. Instead, she had shown her mother nothing but her contempt and anger.

But she _did_ know that name.

When her mother was in medical school and then during her residency, she would often find her asleep on the couch, books piled high around her, a fortress of knowledge to keep Brianna out. Most days Claire roused at Brianna's footsteps but there were others when Claire did not wake and she would hear her mother cry in her sleep and whimper a name. _Jamie_.

Unbidden, a thought slammed into her mind that stopped her dead in her tracks.

_“He found Jamie several years ago but neglected to inform me.”  
_

__Culloden._   
_

Before she knew what she was doing she turned on her heel and strode in the direction of the library.

* * *

 

In the end he was shockingly easy to find.

She had spent her childhood afternoons rummaging through her father’s office, pouring over countless books and maps and letters, determined to unearth some lost fascination from the past. She could still feel the pride bloom in her chest when she looked upon her father’s books (signed especially for her) on her bedroom shelf. It had been years since she had taken those books off the shelf and when she sat down with them once again at the library it was like she was seeing them truly for the first time.

Until that day Culloden had been a topic of interest but one divorced of all emotion. In the wake of her mother’s story, reading the account of the ‘45 was akin to having her heart ripped from her chest. She could hear her mother’s words, choked with emotion as she recounted those final, bitter days. Of the good men she had cared for, and the vainglorious prince who had gotten them all killed.

Much later, when she was lost in amidst the horror of the years that followed Culloden, when the English launched a merciless retaliation against the Highland Scots, she found his name, tucked away in a footnote related to the letters of one Lord John Grey.

James Fraser.

_Parole sanctioned for Helwater, England, 1756._

* * *

 

She found her father in his study, slouched in his chair. She dropped the books from the library on his desk and they made an almighty clatter that caused him to nearly jump out of his skin in fright.

“You lied to her. You’re still lying to her.”

She stood towering over her father, hand tapping furiously against her thigh in agitation while glared menacingly at him.

Frank was caught halfway between admiration and annoyance.  He looked at the names of the pile of books in front of him and he felt his blood cool in his veins.

“Brianna, I understand you are upset, but I will not have you speak to me in this manner. Are we clear?”

“No! We’re not!” Brianna erupted in anger. She held her chin high and challenging, refusing to back down.

“You are lying to her. You are lying to me! You have let her go to that godforsaken archive every day for _three months_ when you already held the answers she was looking for.”

“We were on our honeymoon!”

The words exploded from his mouth with such a ferocity Brianna could see he had even surprised himself with the outburst.

“She was my wife and we were on her honeymoon and she was taken from me. Do you have any idea of what it was like, to be told she was missing? To find her car and shawl just abandoned on that hill. To spend three years searching and hoping and trying to move on because that’s what everyone said you should do but how? How was I to just accept my wife was gone!?”

Brianna felt herself shrink away from her father’s pain and anger.

“And then for her to come back, the joy of it! My Lord, the absolute euphoric relief. Only to find that she wasn’t my wife anymore. She was _his_. She had left me. Left me to wonder. I am still searching for my wife. Twenty odd years later. So do not chastise me about my choices. I did what I thought was right for my family.”

She didn’t speak for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. When she finally did speak her voice was low and dangerous.

“You didn’t tell us because it was what was best for _you_ , not me. And certainly not for Mom.”

Frank physically recoiled from Brianna’s words.

“I grew up watching you research. I know what you are like when you are focused on a project and I know, without a doubt, that you have gathered everything there is on James Fraser. You watch her leave here every morning knowing she will never find what she is searching for. I never knew you could be so cruel.”

Frank crumpled into his chair and put his head in his hands.

“What would you have me to do, Brianna?” he asked finally, looking up at her.

“I want you to help her. I want you to help me.”

“To find him?”

“Yes.”

“She’ll leave. She’ll go to him.” The reality of that hit Brianna at the centre of her chest and it took her a moment to find her voice again.

“Maybe, but perhaps that’s where she is supposed to be.”

The simplicity of that truth seemed to wash over Frank like refreshing water.

“Fine. I will help. But the work… the rest of it… it’s in Inverness. With Reggie.”

“Then I guess we are going to Scotland.”

* * *

 

A short time later she found her mother in the parlour, the fire lit in the hearth, the guttering flames casting shadows about the room. Claire held a book in her lap and she looked up at Brianna with a expression of such sadness and hope that it broke her heart all over again.

Brianna sat beside her mother on the couch and took a deep breath to gather herself together. “I just want to apologise for storming out like that today. It was the wrong thing to do but I was so floored and I just didn’t think I could bear to stay in that room for one more second.”

Claire smiled sadly at her, “It’s all right darling, I understand. It is an awful lot to take in. I probably would have done the same thing.”

“No you wouldn’t have,” Brianna said instinctively with a smile.

Claire laughed and smiled wryly, “No, probably not, but-” she hesitated a moment and then said gently, “Jamie. Jamie would have done that.”

Brianna hesitated a moment before she spoke.

“Am I like him?” she asked softly.

Brianna watched her mother’s face fill with love and affection, “Oh my darling.” She reached out to gently tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “You are so full of him. All these years later and I still find something new of him in you.”

“Like what?” Brianna asked, unable to help herself.

“Your Fraser temper, for one!” Claire smiled fondly at her, “Your hair, and eyes. Oh my love, when I saw your eyes I thought my heart had stopped in my chest. He was such a leader, your father, a chief, really. You have that, too. You know how to take charge. You are so brave, just like he was. He used to smile in his sleep when I stroked his hair, and you do that, too.”

Brianna could feel her heart clench in her chest.

“There’s so many things, my darling, so many.”

“Does it make you sad?”

“Sometimes, but it also fills me with such joy. To see him in you. To see you becoming your own person. To know that, no matter the cost, we made the right decision. It has been the great privilege of my life to be your mother.”

Tears stung Brianna’s eyes, momentarily blurring her vision.

“Mom… I… when I stormed out today I walked around for awhile and I got thinking, about Culloden and... well, Daddy thinks that there may be some useful research of his with Reverend Wakefield. In Inverness. I… I think we should go.”

Brianna felt the shift in her mother’s demeanour. “Scotland? You want to go to Scotland?”

“I think I owe it to him. And to you. And myself. I can’t sit back and just wonder.”

Claire pulled Brianna into her arms and held her tight to her chest and stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. After a while Claire pulled back to look at Brianna and spoke in a low, hushed tone.

"I… I want to apologise to you for my failings as your mother."  
  
"Mom, you don't have--"  
  
"No darling, please let me finish. I had such dreams for your life, for how I would raise you. But... They were all wrapped up with Jamie. In the family we would have been together. When I returned I... I didn't know how to _be_ without him. And to my shame, that included being your mother. I am so sorry my love, that I could not give you that dream."  
  
She could not hold the tears back any longer and allowed them to run down her face as she reached out to take her mother's hand.   
  
"Will you tell me again. Your story. Now that I'm ready to hear it."  
  
So they sat, heads bowed together on the couch. The room aglow with firelight, her mother’s words warming them both. And for the first time in her life, Brianna felt like she knew her mother.


	4. Of Endings and Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye is easier said than done.

They had been in Scotland three days when Brianna found Jamie.

Tucked away in a letter that Reggie had been using as a bookmark, was the parole release for one James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser, dated September 1766.

“I found him,” Brianna said, wonder filling her voice, “Mom, I’ve found him!”

Claire sat frozen in her seat as she absorbed her daughter’s words, letting her body feel them as well as hear them. Brianna got up and brought the letter over to show her and Claire traced his name gently with her index finger and whispered to herself, “Jamie… _Oh God Jamie_ …”

Roger came over to look at the letter and his brow knitted with frustration. “This just gives the date of release, there’s no’ anything about where he went after that.”

“Lallybroch,” Claire said softly. “He would go to Lallybroch.”

“Are ye sure? It’s a hell of a chance to take without certainty, aye?”

In that moment they all were acutely aware of what Brianna’s discovery truly meant; Claire would go back.

It seemed such an obvious fact, after all what else were their efforts for? But the acknowledgment of it weighed heavily between them and the silence in the room became suffocating.

“I’m certain,” Claire said, voice hoarse with emotion.

The moment was broken by Frank, who got up from his seat and brushed past Claire, jacket clutched tightly in his hand. He did not stop to look back and before they could say word the house shook with the sudden slamming of the front door.

* * *

It took no more than a further week in Scotland for the arrangements to be made. For Claire it was both a relief and a sad indictment to her time spent in the twentieth century that she could wrap up her entire life in seven days. The move to England had already necessitated “getting her house in order” and so, after the drawing up of some legal documents, all that was left to arrange was the the practicalities of her journey and finally, her goodbyes. She had bid farewell to Joe in Boston, through tears and hiccuping, snorting laughter. Frank and Brianna were the only others in her life that she could imagine who would miss her. In a strange way this comforted Claire and gave validation to her choice. In the eighteenth century she may have been a strange and unknown entity, and she was often in danger from the fear that instilled in the people around her, but she was also part of a community that valued her, even loved her.

It was her time, she was sure of that if nothing else.

* * *

On her last night in the twentieth century Claire sought her daughter out for one final task. She wanted to bring Jamie something real and tangible of Brianna. More than words or memories, something he could hold in his hand. Photographs presented the best way to achieve that goal and so she asked Brianna for help in choosing which ones to take. After an hour they had agreed on five but Claire wanted one more.

“What about this one?” Claire asked as she held up a picture of Bree on her first day of Middle School.

An expression of genuine horror crossed Brianna’s face as she looked at - and immediately dismissed -  her mother’s suggestion. “Absolutely not!”

Claire turned the Polaroid around to look at it once more. “Why ever not?”

“My mouth is doing the thing.”

“The thing? You mean _smiling_?”

“Haha Mom, very funny. No, you know that weird thing it does sometimes where it’s all crooked.”

“I gave you that mouth!” Claire said indignantly, “there’s not a thing wrong with it!”

“Nice try, Beauchamp, but it’s still going in the ‘NO’ pile.”

Claire sighed and placed the picture on the ever increasing mound of rejected images.

“Where are the ones we took on our way to England?” Claire asked, rifling through the pictures spread out on her lap. They were both tucked snugly under the covers of Brianna’s single bed and so there was some deal of jostling involved in locating the newer batch of shots. Brianna passed the pictures to her mother and Claire quickly went through them until she stopped and smiled happily at a photograph of Bree, standing on the tarmac at Logan airport. It was taken just as she was about to board the plane to England and she had held her arms out gesturing towards the plane in the background, a beaming smile on her face.

“This is it, this is the one.”

Brianna looked at it dubiously. “Really? I mean, what’s so special about it? I’m just goofing around.”

“I would often tell Jamie about some of the more interesting advances of the modern world. The idea of mechanical flight fascinated him. He couldn’t believe it. To see his daughter standing in front of a plane and to know your life held such wonders… I think… I think it will mean a great deal to him.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both lost in their thoughts of the coming day.

“It’s getting late,” Claire said finally and began tidying up the photographs before them. When they were placed neatly back into their basket Claire moved to get out from under the covers but Bree’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“Please, will you tell me the story, one last time.”

Suddenly Claire felt like she was looking at Bree as a child, when all she wanted was for her mother to hold her and stroke her hair. She blinked back the tears that burned her eyes and then wrapped the covers tightly around them. She pulled Brianna into her side and began, for the last time, to tell her the story of how she came to be.

* * *

Claire left Brianna asleep at the Manse and made her way to Mrs. Baird’s B&B, where Frank had taken a room. Much to her horror she found that Frank was staying in a room eerily similar to the one they had stayed in during their honeymoon in 1945.

“Mrs. Baird clearly isn’t one for change,” Claire said as she looked around the bedroom. It was an unnerving, uncomfortable sensation to sit with him once more, before the fire, a double bed looming large and untouched behind them.

“No. I can’t say I blame her,” Frank said in response.

Claire eyed him warily. They had not exchanged more than a few polite, meaningless words since they left England. Claire, upon learning of his deceit, had found it impossible to look at him without the burn of rage boiling within her. But now, on the eve of her departure, she found she had neither the time nor inclination for anger.

“Frank, I want to thank you for the letters, I–” she began, but Frank cut her off before she could carry on.

"Please Claire, there is only so much I can-” he shook his head as if the words had caused him physical pain. "There is only so much,” he said again in a choked whisper.

She nodded and bent to take some papers out of the bag she had brought with her. “Very well, I do not wish to disturb you any further than is necessary but there are some things I need to say before… before I go.”

“When do… when do you think that will be?” he asked tentatively, attempting to mask the apprehension that coloured his words .

“Tomorrow,” she said gently, “In the morning.”

“Tomorrow!” The shock of it caused him to pitch forward in his armchair.

She hesitated a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. “When I go, I don’t want there to be anything hanging over you or Brianna. I want it straightforward and-”

He scoffed and interrupted her. "Straightforward? I cannot think of a less straightforward situation.”

She felt the atmosphere of the room change with his tone, growing darker and more volatile. Claire took a deep breath to calm herself and then she moved along.

“All the more reason to have things in order. I’ve made arrangements with Joe and I have remade my will to ensure Brianna is taken care of.” She steeled herself for a moment, took a final deep breath and then put the manila folder between them on the coffee table, “And I’ve also had divorce papers drawn up.”

Silence choked the room until all Claire could hear was the furious beat of her own heart and Frank’s heavy breathing as he stared dumbfounded at the papers.

“Divorce papers? You drew up divorce papers. Why would you do such a thing?”

“I’m leaving, Frank. I’m leaving and I won’t be coming back. I don’t want you… I don’t want you to go through what you did the last time. Wondering. I want you to be… free.”

He shoved the papers away from him in disgust.

“Well I do not care for such freedom. You are my wife. We took vows.”

“Frank, please. Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”

He leaned forward in the chair once more and clasped her hands in his, “You haven’t looked at me with love in your eyes in twenty years but still it is taking me all that I am to not beg you to stay.”

“Frank,” she said softly moving her hand to cup his cheek, he looked at her, desperation etched into the lines of his face. “I can’t live if I don’t go.”

A sob rolled up from his chest and he sat back in the chair, dazed and defeated.

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand how there is a love deeper than that which I feel for you. I cannot fathom it. We are a family, surely that is worth something? I will love you better Claire, I will love you as much if not more than he did. Please Claire. _Don’t_ _go_.”

A very tender well of pity pooled within her as she looked upon this man she once loved and who seemed damned to love her.

“Do you think I don’t know how much I’ve hurt you? Do you think that all of this doesn’t hurt me, too? I still remember how I loved you, Frank. I still remember what it is to be loved by you.“

"Then why… Why? We could have tried Claire, we could still try!”

She smiled sadly at him.

“No, we can’t. Those are the memories of a girl. A girl that no longer exists. You must let her go, Frank. Can’t you see how it is holding you back? The one for you could be out there, waiting and you are wasting your chance to find them.”

“You are the one for me!” he said vehemently.

His body shook with the force of his words, but Claire held true.

“No. I’m not,” she said kindly, but definitively.

“How can you know that?”

“Because you are not the one for me.”

Claire felt Frank’s hands tremble and go slack as they loosened their grip on her. She squeezed his fingers gently, a well meaning though hollow attempt at comfort. She lifted his hands and slowly returned them to his lap. Then, very carefully, she removed the wedding ring he gave her and placed it into his palm.

In ignorance she had sworn vows on that golden band, not knowing that Jamie was out there beyond the veil of time, waiting for her. In grief and guilt she reaffirmed those vows but this time when she went to Jamie she would do so unbound and unburdened.

She stood and made her way towards the door but stopped and turned back to Frank one last time.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, “for the father you have been to Brianna, for the father I know you will always be to her. No matter where I am, I will never forget that.”

She held his gaze for a moment more and then she was gone.

* * *

Later that night, in the depths of the dark hours, when she was finally free of any other man’s claim upon her, she laid hands on herself and imagined they were Jamie’s hands. Skin long deadened to touch came alive under his imagined gaze. Between the parting of her legs, Claire saw him watching her, eyes blazing with desire as she slid her hand between her thighs and cupped the flesh she found there. Plump and wet and hot, she was shocked by her own softness. Her body opened with ease, as though it has always been waiting for the moment to welcome him home. Her hips rose to her hand’s demands and her chest heaved with the beating of her heart. At the last she called to him, gasping in desire, and finally found release in the knowledge that somewhere in time, he may hear her.

* * *

She woke with the dawning of the light. Warm sunbeams filled the room with the glow of the new day but Claire did not move to rise. Instead she lay in her bed and felt her heart slow to a juddering throb as she contemplated the meaning of what she had set out to do.

To find her husband she must lose her daughter. For a split second she is at the _Bois de Boulange_ again, screaming Jamie’s name, Faith’s life slipping away second by second.

_What kind of person was she to lose a daughter only to give another up willingly?_

The numbing horror of this fact sent her mind reeling. As if entering hell itself, she descended into a black spiral of worry and panic. Her resolve began to ebb away from her, moving further and further out of her reach. So distracted by the practical tasks of finding Jamie and then the preparations to go, she had not stopped long enough to really dwell on the consequences of such actions. With every passing day the bond between her and Bree had grown stronger, _deeper_. Finally, they had begun to know each other.

_To walk away from that now?_

A tentative knock at her door broke her out of her disquiet. Before she could respond Brianna popped her head around the door and smiled sheepishly. Claire felt her heart swell at the sight of her daughter, hungry for every last piece of her she could get. “Come in, darling, come in,” she said patting the bed cover beside her. Brianna stepped in and closed the door gently. She stood looking at her mother and Claire could see her nervously tapping her fingers against her thigh. A little quirk she had inexplicably developed in the last few weeks.

“What is it, darling?” Claire asked.

Brianna hesitated and blushed slightly before she responded. “I… um.. when I was researching the eighteenth century, I read about how people lived and there was a some stuff on dress and I know women often had help dressing and I waswonderingifyouneededhelpgettingdressedthismorning.” She said the last part in a furious rush of words that could only be matched in intensity by the crimson flush that had risen on her cheeks. For a split second Claire was sure she felt her heart break with utter tenderness for her gift of a girl. She blinked back tears and then her own sheepish smile spread across her face, “Yes, I’d like that very much, dear.” Brianna beamed back at Claire and stepped quickly towards the door.

“OK, you go wash up and I’ll fix us some breakfast to have before we get started.”

Claire nodded and Brianna was out the door before she had time to say another word.

* * *

Claire didn’t move immediately, instead she stared after Brianna and took a breath, long and deep, and pushed out the anguish that was growing like vines around her heart. A moment passed and then she was up, leaning once more on the task at hand to distract her from the gravity of the choice that lay before her. With her shift and nightgown in hand she made her way to the lavatory and contemplated the merits of one final hot bath. Tempting as the thought was, she decided she would rather give the time she had to Bree and opted to wash at the sink instead.

When she was cleansed and fresh, she dressed in the shift and nightgown and returned to her bedroom to find Bree sitting on the bed with a tray heaped with a feast of pancakes, bacon, eggs and coffee. Claire’s eyes went as round as saucers at the sight.

“I figure time travel is hungry work and plus, you gotta have American pancakes one last time, not those British knock offs,” Brianna said in explanation.

Claire sat down and closed her eyes to fully appreciate the smell wafting up from the plates. “It smells delicious!” she said. Bree handed her a fork and smiled at her eagerly, “Tuck in!”

They took their time eating, savouring each bite, each moment of conversation, each second they had together. However, their plates were soon clear, their cups soon empty and it was time.

* * *

“Man, this stuff is so heavy. How did you ever get around with it all,” Brianna asked as she pulled out the navy gown Claire had gotten made for her return to the 1700s. Along with this Brianna removed stays, skirts, bumroll, pockets, stockings, shoes and finally a moss green cloak from the wardrobe.

Claire drew her hair up and away from her face as she answered.

“You get used to it. Can be an awful bother when it’s wet. It gets heavier still, and my word, the smell!” Claire allowed herself one last look in the mirror to smooth down her hair and then she was ready.

“Righto, let’s begin, shall we?”

When Brianna looked back at her she had removed her nightgown and was standing only in her shift. The white material, though better quality than anything she wore in the eighteenth century was still fine enough that the curves and shadows of her body could be clearly made out.

“Oh Jeez, Mom!” Brianna said, blushing furiously.

She averted her gaze to rest steadily on Claire’s face. Despite her embarrassment she was unable to keep the teasing humour out of voice, “Are you sure you don’t want some underwear? Won’t it be… draughty?”

Claire chuckled and indicated to Brianna to hand her the stockings. She sat on the bed and pulled her shift up to her thighs to put them on. “Yes, it will be rather draughty indeed but my modern clothing drew attention last time. I’d rather not do that again if it can be helped.” Brianna nodded silently, somewhat sobered by Claire’s answer. She gathered herself after a moment and then grabbed the stays and turned to Claire and asked, “Corset next?”

Piece by piece they put Claire together. Fashioning her into an eighteenth century lady once again. When they were done Brianna stepped back and looked at Claire in awe. “You are beautiful, Mom.” Tears sprang to her eyes but she quickly wiped them away.

Claire smiled sadly at her daughter and once again she felt unsure of her decision.

“Bree, I–” Claire hesitated, “I don’t know if I can-”

Bree clutched her by the shoulders and shook her gently. “You. Are. Going.” she said fiercely, no longer capable of keeping the tears at bay. It was too much for Claire and she could no longer prevent herself from falling apart. “But how can I leave you!” she implored, desperately.

“He has to know, Mom. _He has to know_. We’ve had each other all this time but he’s been alone! I can’t… I can’t live with that.” Claire sobbed openly and pulled Brianna to her in a fierce hug. She kissed her hair, her temple, her cheeks. Anywhere and everywhere her mouth touched. “I love you, my darling, I will love you forever. Your father will be so proud to know how sweet and brave and braw you are.” Brianna laughed, pulled back and looked at her mother, “Braw, huh?”

Claire tucked a stray strand of hair behind Brianna’s ear and smiled sweetly down at her, “The brawest.” Brianna stepped out of her mother’s embrace and wiped her face one last time.

“OK, let’s get this show on the road, shall we? I’ll make sure the car is ready and then I’ll meet you downstairs in five minutes.”

Brianna went to the door but hesitated for a brief moment and said, without turning back, “I love you, Mom.”

Then she was out the door and down the stairs.

* * *

Alone in the room, Claire gathered the handful of possessions she would take with her. A change of stockings and shift wrapped neatly in a pack, along with a few pieces of medical equipment, and then finally the pictures she and Brianna had selected were put deep into her dress pocket. She paused to look at herself in the mirror and took her time, running her hands over each piece, checking stitching and pleats and bindings. Finally she raised her head and met her own gaze in the mirror, tilted her head and sighed.

“There you are,” she said in a whisper.

For the first time in eighteen years she recognised herself and could not help the small smile that emerged at the corner of her mouth, tugging at her lips.

* * *

When she came to the top of the stairs she was surprised to find a small guard of honour awaiting her in the hallway. Below her stood Reverend Wakefield, Mrs. Graham, Roger, Frank and Brianna. Their eyes never left her as she came down the stairs and her last step from the stairs rendered a collective gasp from the group. She blushed slightly and ducked her head.

Seeing her struggle Reverend Wakefield was the first to step forward. “Safe travels to ye, Claire,” he said and pressed a small piece of parchment into her hand. “Just a wee prayer for the journey ahead,” he explained and then stepped back into place. “Thank you, Reggie, truly.” She inclined her head to him and then moved on to Mrs. Graham.

Moira took Claire’s hands in hers and placed two small wrapped lumps inside it. “Now lass, this is just a couple of wee baubies to see ye safe through the Stones, ye ken? Some say it helps with the passage.” Claire leaned forward and hugged her, kissing her on the cheek, “Thank you, for everything.” She squeezed her hand one last time and then she moved on and found herself gazing at Roger’s sheepish grin. He handed her a small sheepskin flask. “I thought perhaps ye might have need of a wee dram along the way.” Claire laughed and then removed the cap to take a whiff. Her eyes watered and she coughed. “Goodness! Yes, I believe I will! Thank you, Roger, this is incredibly thoughtful. And thank you for all you have done these last few months.” Roger scoffed, “Och no, Claire, it’s been quite the adventure, no?” She smiled at him and patted his hand as she moved on.

Before Claire could address Frank, Mrs. Graham clapped her hands and herded Roger and the Reverend into the kitchen and gave the small family some privacy for their final parting.

Frank spoke first, voice rough with emotion. From his pocket he produced a small pouch that she recognised from his eighteenth century coin collection and a sgian dubh. Claire gasped and looked up at Frank, shocked. He extended his hands out to her and said, very quietly, “I wish to see you safe, Claire. Coin and a blade are the best ways I know how to achieve that… where you are going.” Claire was taken aback. “Frank, I simply could not take these. You have been collecting them for years.” Insistently he put the items in her hands. “You must, Claire. Think of it as a divorce settlement.” Claire couldn’t help herself, she burst out laughing. “Did you just make a divorce joke?” Frank smiled ruefully, though tears were beginning to moisten his eyes, “Yes, I believe I did.”

She placed the money in her pocket and sgian dubh in the back of her shoe. Frank gathered her hands in his and looked at her fiercely. “Goodbye, Claire Beauchamp.” Slowly he brought her left hand up his mouth and kissed the spot where her ring had once been. He looked her in the eye one last time and she squeezed his hands. “Be happy, Frank,” she said softly and then he released her from his grasp and walked into kitchen to join the others.

At the last Brianna and Claire stood alone in the hallway. “And then there were two,” Claire said, softly. Brianna brought a small cloth pile out from behind her back, “I don’t have any fancy gifts to give but I do have provisions. There’s a PB&J in there and some other snacks for the road. Eighteenth century safe, of course. I also… um… There’s something for Jam– for my father in there. Will you give it to him?”

Claire could not stop the tears that ran down her face. “Yes, my love, I will make sure he gets it.” She placed the pack into her own bundle and tucked it back under her arm. She took Brianna’s hands in hers and looked at her daughter. “I’ve left some things with Uncle Joe for you. Letters, instructions, advice and little odds and ends that I think you might need in the future. I know Frank will always be there for you but don’t forget Joe. He is unlikely to let you anyway, but please, he has been the greatest friend I have ever known and I know that if you should need anything, he will be there.” Brianna nodded her head, “I won’t Mom, I promise.”

Claire nodded her head and took a deep breath. “When your father and I married, we took a vow in Gàidhlig. I don’t remember the words in that version but in English they mean,’You are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone,’ You are the promise of that vow. The very best of us both and I am so profoundly grateful that I got to be your mother. I love you, my darling, now and always.”

Claire placed a final kiss on Brianna’s forehead and stepped back to gather everything that she would take with her. She opened the door and walked out into the drive. She did not look back as she got into the car and drove off. Instead she kept watch in the rearview mirror as she drove out the gate and then down the street, until finally Brianna had vanished from sight.


	5. When You Have to Go There...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prodigal wife returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this one is for @bonnie-wee-swordsman who was the first person I spoke to in this fandom and has been unendingly supportive and encouraging and is just all round real life cinnamon roll. There was something canon cheated her on in the books, so when I realised this fic would give me the opportunity to maybe try to right that wrong, I thought I’d better give it a go

It took Brianna no more than thirty seconds to realise she had made a mistake.  

With her heart pounding in her chest she turned and raced upstairs into her bedroom. From under her bed she pulled out a bundle she had surreptitiously hidden there. It was a Jessica Gutenberg dress she had found during a break from research while browsing the stores of Inverness. Done in the eighteenth century style, it was a pale blue with white trim. She had gone back to the store three different times, as though the dress was a piece of art that spoke to her so deeply that she could not bear to be separated from it. In the end the store girl had taken pity on her and insisted she buy the dress - _at a significant discount_ \- since Brianna could clearly not leave Scotland without it. Brianna hadn’t known then what she intended to do with it. Quietly, in the privacy of her own thoughts, she hoped it would allow her to feel closer to her mother, something that could bridge the distance between Brianna’s time and the one Claire was preparing to return to. Now, faced with her mother’s departure, she knew she had subconsciously been preparing herself to go through the Stones, too.

As quickly as she could, she stripped out of her clothes, _underwear too,_ and pulled the dress on, just about managing the zip on her own. After one last look around the room she left and ran down the stairs, bursting into the kitchen unannounced.

“I have to go back, too!”

The four people around the kitchen table looked up and stared at her open mouthed. “Now!” she bellowed impatiently when they didn’t react. After a beat Roger got up and started towards the door, grabbing a set of car keys from the dresser on his way.

“Brianna Ellen Randall, I forbid this,” her father said, voice brooking no argument, as he stood from his chair.

She stopped and looked at him, her heart aching in her chest with the knowledge that she was adding to his pain.

“I’m sorry, Daddy, I’m not doing this to hurt you,” she said, desperately wanting to convey in her words as much sincerity and regret as she possessed. Despite all that had transpired these last months Brianna loved her father dearly, but love was no shield for pain, and as much as she did not want to hurt him, she would not back down either. She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “But I _am_ doing this.”

Frank’s face tightened and his jaw clenched with barely contained emotion. “Please Brianna, to lose you both in one day… It’s more than I can manage,” his voice was  ragged, as though he had swallowed glass and every word he uttered echoed with the agony of this day, of his entire life. She moved in front of him and cupped his check in her palm. “You won’t lose me. Not ever. And I will be coming back. I promise you. But I have to go now, Daddy, before it’s too late.”

Frank nodded his head as a silent tear ran down his cheek only to be caught by Brianna’s palm. She smiled at him, a gentle, tender look of love, and it was enough to allow him to gather himself together. “God preserve me from Beauchamp women,” he muttered under his breath and then moved towards the door.

“Come on then, if we hurry we may still catch her.”

* * *

Roger drove furiously in the direction of Craigh na Dùn. However, with a ten minute lead on them, they only just caught up with Claire. When they arrived they found her almost at the peak of the hill. Brianna launched herself out of the car and stormed the hill as if she was running into battle, calling to her mother at the top of her lungs. “Mom! _MOOOOOM_!” Slipping and sliding Brianna made her way up the fairy mound. “God-fucking-damn it!” she cursed as she tripped and stumbled. She had heard the buzzing as soon as she had started running but now she was feeling it too, rattling her bones and scrambling her brain, setting her completely off balance. She called to her mother once more, a long panicked sound and it was only then that Claire turned and saw her. Shock and confusion registered on Claire’s face and she moved away from the Stones immediately to reach Brianna.

“What is it? Are you OK? What’s happened?” Claire asked in a furious succession of questions.

As Brianna tried to catch her breath she was aware of her mother scanning her for injury and swatted her hands away in annoyance. “I'm… fine… _oh God I’m_ _so_ _out of shape_ … Mom seriously, I’m fine… I’m going with you… Mom enough with the pat down… _Oh God I think I pulled my lung_ …” She continued to wheeze and sputter, not hearing her mother’s words.

“What do you mean you are coming with me?” Claire asked sternly.

Brianna finally straightened herself up and stood facing her mother who had her arms crossed over her chest and her “Do not fuck with me” look on her face.

“I’m coming with you,” Brianna said again and cut her mother off before she could get a word in. “I don’t want you to have to face this all alone anymore. I feel like we just found each other too, and I’m not ready to say goodbye to that.” Claire’s face softened considerably and shifted from an expression of resolve to one of sadness and guilt. “But that’s not all. I… I want to be the one to show him an aeroplane. I want to tell him about Smokey and my first day of school and Christmas and every other thing I can think of. I want him to know _me_ , not just pictures of me. I want to know _him_. The real person. Not the memories. I found him, Mom. _I_ found him. But it’s not enough. I need to know him, too… I want to know you both, _together_.”

Claire opened her mouth to speak at least three times before she could find her voice. “What about Frank? It so dangerous, Brianna. Not everyone can travel through the Stones. Jamie couldn’t, and even those that can, not everyone makes it through, some get trapped. I’ve heard them screaming.” Brianna swallowed down the bile and dread that she felt crawling up her throat. “ _We_ will. I know it. I have been hearing the buzzing since I got out of the car so I know I can travel, too. And Daddy knows. He’s here, with Roger. I told him I will come back. And I will, eventually, but right now I need to be in the time I come from.”

Brianna could see tears in her mother’s eyes and she knew Claire was wavering. She turned and saw her father approaching the ascent of the hill, Roger having stayed back at the car.

“Frank, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I swear it,” Claire said, imploring him to believe her. Her parents shared a look that seemed to say more than they had spoken to each other in twenty years.

“The Aberdeen Journal!” Brianna blurted out. Claire and Frank both turned and looked at her blankly. “It’s the oldest newspaper in Scotland, I read it while  we were researching” she explained, “first print was 1748 and it is still in print now. I’ll post ads there to let you know how I’m doing and when I am coming back. I mean it, Daddy, I will come back. This isn’t forever.” Frank and Claire shared another look and then he nodded, “All right. The Aberdeen Journal. I will watch for you, darling.”

She flung herself into his arms then and hugged him fiercely. When she pulled back she kissed his cheek and whispered “I love you,” in his ear. Then, she stood back and took her mother’s hand and moved to stand before the large cleft stone.

“Don’t let go of me, whatever you do, don’t let go,” Claire said, squeezing Brianna’s hand tightly in hers. She reached into her pocket and gave Brianna one of the ‘wee baubies’ Mrs. Graham had given her. “Hold that as we go through, Mrs. Graham told me it can be useful to think of the person and time you are trying to reach. So we must both think of Jamie in 1766.” Brianna nodded her head in understanding.

As one they move towards the great cleft stone, hands outstretched. When Brianna’s palm made contact with the cold surface of the stone her head filled with the screams of the lost, those Claire had said did not make it through. The world around Brianna spun out of control and she felt herself lifted into the air and flung through space and time. She tried to gain purchase, to anchor herself to something solid, something real, but no matter how hard she tried, there was nothing.

* * *

When the screaming finally ceased Claire and Brianna found themselves in a tangled heap of limbs at the foot of the cleft stone. Claire felt as though every bone in her body had been pulled out and roughly shoved back in again. She knew with certainty that a fourth trip would kill her. For better or worse, she was bound to this place and time for the rest of her life. She heard a groan to her left and glanced over to see Brianna attempting to heave herself up. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mac truck,” she said gruffly. Claire smiled warmly at her, inarticulately grateful to have her beside her for this journey, and utterly beside herself at the thought of seeing Jamie meet their daughter. She reached out and touched Bree’s hand. “Thank you, for coming too. I never… I never thought I’d get to see you and your father together.” Her voice grew hoarse with emotion and she wiped away the tears that were budding at the corners of her eyes. Brianna smiled at her, squeezed her hand and then stood, pulling Claire to her feet.

“Come on then, we’ve kept him waiting long enough.”

* * *

They had been on the road a day and a half when fatigue finally began to set in for Claire. Not as young as she had once been, and unused to to being out in elements such as those found in the Highlands, she felt herself lagging somewhat behind Brianna. Lallybroch was still at least half a day’s walk but she decided it would be better to keep on their path rather than to beg hospitality and a place in front of the hearth from the next homestead they came upon. As tempted as Claire was by the idea of a place to sit and rest, she resisted, unsure how an Englishwoman would be received in the Highlands. Memories were long and she had seen the legacy of English justice on the road. So many homes that she had once known as being filled with life and activity were now vacant and left to ruin.

So they kept on, trudging through mud and exhaustion, until finally they reached the crest of a hill and looked down to find Lallybroch.

* * *

The house was as she had always remembered it; warm and bustling with life. She could see smoke coming out of the chimney in the kitchen and could hear the voices of children and the barking of dogs in the front yard. Claire paused for a moment and took in the sight before her and contemplated what she was about to do. The moment she walked through that arch her life would change and the gravity of that was beginning to shake her nerve. Brianna had been silent, allowing her to gather her thoughts but when she had took too long Brianna squeezed Claire’s hand in support. “I’m right here,” she said, smiling at Claire, love shining from the eyes her father had given her.

_Courage, Beaucamp. Courage._

Claire brought Brianna’s hand to her lips and kissed it and then slowly began to head up the path to the house.

When they were no more than twenty yards from the stone arch Claire heard a shriek of delight that bubbled into gasping giggles. A small child of about six or seven who had a shock of the most beautiful chestnut hair, came racing through the arch and barrelling towards them. When he lifted his head and saw them on the road the sight of Claire and Brianna brought the little terror up short. He stood ten paces away from them, staring. Try as she might not to, Claire stared right back. If Brianna hadn’t been standing beside her as an adult she would believe that her six year old self stood before her. The broad Viking cheekbones, the shinning blue eyes that danced with mischief and a mouth that seemed to be in a constant battle of suppressing a grin. It was all the same, except the hair. His hair was as wild and unruly as Brianna’s had been but his was a rich chestnut that looked brown until the light caught it and then the strands of red shone through. The sight of him took the air out of Claire’s lungs. She knew where Brianna had gotten all of those features, and if this child had them too…

A voice full of worry and exasperation boomed from the yard, “Willie, ye wee gomerel, how many times have I told ye to no go past the arch!” A moment later a small but fierce figure thundered down the path and began to make their way towards them. In that instant time itself stopped and Jenny Fraser Murray stood looking at Claire as if she were a ghost.

“Are you here for the wedding?” Willie asked, oblivious to Jenny approaching behind him.  “You’re verra late. It was days ago!” He said verra awkwardly, as if he was trying the word on for size but it didn’t quite fit inside his mouth. His speech was strange, a disjointed mash up of English and Scots. “My cousin got married! I got to hold the rings in the church!” Brianna had bent to speak to Willie and was nodding gravely along with each detail, being sure to look suitably impressed. “That sounds like a very important job you had, Willie. You must have been a great help to your cousin.” Willie beamed at this, delighted that Brianna understood the way of things. Jenny was now only a few steps away when Willie spun around to tell her about the visitors, “Aunt Jenny! They’re here for the wedding. I told them I’m got to hold the rings!-” Willie’s voice died off as he saw the look on his aunt’s face, which had drained entirely of colour. Claire’s heart beat furiously in her ears and her throat tightened. After a moment she found her voice.

“Hello Jenny.”

* * *

Jenny did not speak but simply stared at Claire in astonishment.

“Is it truly you, Claire?” she asked after what felt like an eternity.

“It’s me,” Claire said, smiling at Jenny, desperately trying to convey the depth of her joy at seeing her sister-in-law once more. “I am so very happy to see you again.”

Jenny stiffened noticeably at this and a sense of dread began to crawl up Claire’s spine. This feeling was only reinforced when Jenny put her hand to Willie’s head and brought him close to her side, as if to shield him.

Unconsciously, Claire reached out and clasped Bree’s hand and squeezed it, drawing her near. When she looked back at Jenny she was staring at Bree openly. “Jenny, I’d like to introduce you to your niece, Brianna Ellen Fraser.” Both Bree and Jenny started at the name but were quick to brush it off.

“Brianna, this is your Aunt Jenny,” Claire said.

“Hi!” Bree said, shy but smiling. Jenny didn’t respond, but just looked at her closely. Carefully she moved to stand in front of Bree and put both hands on her cheeks, moving her head gently side to side, searching her face. Finally she spoke, tears brimming at her eyes, “Oh mo chridhe, look at ye!”

Brianna smiled and laughed with Jenny, her own eyes glistening with moisture as she took her aunt into her arms in an embrace. “Come, mo ghraidh, ye must be sae tired after your journey. Come up to the house and we’ll get ye a bite to eat and a bed to lay yer heid.” With that Jenny turned, her arm still around Brianna and began to walk towards the house. Brianna hesitated and looked back at Claire, worry written all over her face. Claire smiled at her daughter and nodded her head. _Go on. I’ll be right there._

Claire did not follow behind them. Instead she stayed where she stood and watched them, arm in arm, happily chatting together. Jenny had all but dismissed her and with the realisation of that Claire felt a block of ice lodge itself into the bottom of her stomach. She stayed there on the road, staring, for several minutes until she felt a gentle tug at her hand. She looked down and found that Willie had stayed behind and waited with her. He looked up at her now, his small hand in hers, and smiled encouragingly at her.

“Come on, don’t be frightened, I’ll show you the way.”

Claire felt the chill in her heart melt just a fraction when she looked at the sweet boy’s face. She took a deep breath and nodded silently at him. He beamed back at her and with his hand still in hers, he lead her towards the house.


	6. They Have to Take You In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion's just another word for nothing left to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to @darksassenachnessa on Tumblr whose comment on the last chapter made me think about how I was framing Jenny and whether that was really what I wanted to convey with this fic.

When they arrived at the house, Willie and Claire were met by Jenny in the parlour. Claire and Jenny exchanged a look before Jenny turned to the boy, "William, go on into the kitchen to Mrs. McNab and Brianna, Mary has some bannocks ready for ye."

Willie hesitated and looked up at Claire, considering. Reluctantly he let go of her hand but rather than making his way to the kitchen he turned and stood before her. He didn't move at once but instead closed his eyes and stuck his tongue out from the corner of his mouth in concentration. Then, very carefully, he bowed before her. His body moved slowly, awkward and unsteady with the movements. Claire gasped, completely taken aback by the gesture. Out of practice herself, she gingerly bent her head and legs in a curtsy. When they had both straightened they smiled at each other.

"Go on now, Willie, before they're all gone," Jenny said behind him. He smiled at Claire once more and then he ran out the door and down the hall to the kitchen.

"He's a very sweet boy," Claire said quietly, almost wistfully, as she watched him leave. Her back was still turned to Jenny when she spoke again. "He's Jamie's, isn't he?"

Claire turned around to meet Jenny's eye. She felt herself on the brink of tears as a rush of emotion pressed forcefully at her senses. Jenny hesitated in answering, perhaps weighing up whether Claire could be trusted, but when she finally spoke, she did so softly, "Aye, he's Jamie's lad."

Claire closed her eyes and let her body absorb that information, then stealing herself for devastation, she clenched her fists and looked Jenny straight in the eye.

"Is he married?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Despite her best efforts Claire could not stop herself from shaking. Jenny moved towards her and gathered Claire's hands in her own, holding them steady between them. "No lass, he never married again," Jenny said, gently.

"Oh thank God," Claire said in a rush of breath, nearly falling to her knees in relief. It was only Jenny's hand at her elbow that kept her upright. As her thoughts cleared an unwanted question pushed insistently to the front of her mind. "If he's not married then how…" Claire gestured towards the kitchen where Willie had gone.

"Well if ye no ken that and ye a healer-," Jenny's words were cut off, halted by the look of pure fury on Claire's face. Jenny straightened and looked Claire in the eye. "That'll be Jamie's story to tell ye, Claire, no mine."

"He's here? At Lallybroch?" Claire asked, hope creeping into her voice.

"Aye, he's up at the water mill. Ye'll remember the place?"

"Yes, yes… I know it," Claire said, suddenly feeling like the White Rabbit, desperate to be on her way.

"Before ye go anywhere Claire, I have a piece to say to ye," Jenny said, jarring Claire out of her thoughts. In her mind Claire was already half way up the mountain.

"I'll offer ye my apologies for shunning ye on the road just now. The shock of seeing ye and then the lass-" her words died on her lips and she paused for second before continuing, "... still, 'twas no excuse and I'll ask yer forgiveness for it."

Claire nodded dumbly, rendered speechless by the unprecedented sight of a repentant Jenny Fraser.

"I have been honest with ye here, Claire, and I hope ye will grant me the same courtesy."

"Yes, of course," Claire replied.

Jenny walked across the room to a small table where a stubby candle sat before a miniature of the Archangel Raphael, the patron saint of healing. Beside it sat another small painting of Jude the Apostle, the patron saint of lost souls. Claire recognised them from the chapel she occasionally prayed at in the hospital in Boston.

"Eighteen years, Claire. _Eighteen years_. Every night I have lit a candle and said a prayer for you and my brother. That ye might both find peace, wherever ye were. He never told me what happened to ye, only that he lost ye. I'd never seen a man so shook with grief, not even my own father, so I've never thought ye anything but dead. After a time I stopped asking him what happened because I saw how it pained him to think of it. But here ye stand before me and so the only thing I can think is that either my brother has been lying to me all this time, or you have been lying to us all, and I swear to God, Claire, I canna decide which is worse."

"Jenny I--" Claire started to move towards Jenny but her sister-in-law raised her hand up to halt her approach and stood back away from her. "No Claire, I'll have the truth first."

Claire stood stuck to the spot, totally at a loss as what to do. Her mind raced with the options before her but in the end she decided to be honest. She did not have the will for anything else.

"I haven't lied to you, Jenny, nor to Jamie. I _was_ lost to him, just as he was lost to me. There are things I haven't told you and I know I owe you an explanation. You _will_ have it; I give you my word on that. But I have travelled further than you can imagine to find my husband and I--" Claire's voice grew choked and she took a deep breath before she carried on, "Please, I beg you, allow me a few hours grace, just long enough for me to go to him and return. And then, _I swear it_ , I will answer any question you ask."

Jenny considered Claire for a long moment before she spoke.

"A few hours of grace? Aye, I'll grant ye that. I've waited eighteen years, a few hours more willna kill me. Go on away with ye then up to the mill."

Claire hesitated for a moment and looked towards the kitchen. "Brianna?" she said in question.

"Let the lass be. She is bone weary from the road. She'll keep here with me."

"Thank you, Jenny." Claire said, meaning it.

"Aye aye, on with ye then Claire, dinna tarry, 'twill be dark soon."

Claire didn't hesitate, she turned on her heel and made her way out the front door and up the mountain to the water mill.

* * *

By the time she reached the mill the evening had drawn in. The shadows of the day had crept out to stretch across the hillside and begun their slow march towards night. Her gaze fixed on the sagging structure before her. It stood alone on the mountain, with nothing but a few trees and the stream around it. Once a sound building, it appeared to have suffered a fire some years back and now looked to Claire to be no more than a singed pile of sluiced stones covered with a thatch that hung low over the brow of the the walls.

She did not see him at once, half of the building being obscured from where she stood. She made her way around the side of the building where at last, she found him, bent double, arranging turf into neat piles. The muscles of his arms and back bunched tightly as he went through the motions of his work. His hair was short and curled at his nape, the way it had when she first met him. She was struck by the overwhelming urge to run her fingers through it. Unbidden, this thought drew a gasp from her and upon hearing it Jamie turned around, eyes narrowed and wary, searching for a threat.

When his vision finally settled on her his eyes bulged and he dropped the peat he clutched in his hand. He moved towards her stiffly and as she watched him she scanned his body with her eyes, assessing him for pain or injury. Her fingers itching with the urge to touch him.

She remained rooted to the spot, fists clenched and eyes wide, staring as he approached her. He moved slowly but when he did reach her he gently, _oh so very gently_ , raised his right hand and with his index finger curled, moved to stroke her cheek. "Sassenach?" he asked softly, his voice desperate with hope.

When his finger finally touched her skin she gasped, unable to stop herself, and he flew back as if stung. "Jesus Christ, it's you." He clutched his arm to his chest and looked at her warily, as he would a wild animal, mindful that he could be struck down any second. Claire studied him, perplexed, "Who else could it be?"

"A ghost." he said, low and fearful.

At once she thought of Boston, and the endless, aching nights she had spent there. How she had seemed bodiless and unbound to the life around her, adrift in the space between worlds, reaching out to him, begging him to reach for her.

_Yes_ , she thought , _I could have haunted him._

_"_ I'm not a ghost," she said softly and reached out to return his touch. Reflexively he stepped back from her and she flinched, burned by his rejection. The flimsy piece of courage that had carried her through the Stones slipped through her fingers. She felt as though she stood on a wire and the rope had just been cut, leaving her to tumble, head over feet, to the ground.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm her rising panic but Claire had felt that gesture as if he had punched her in the gut. She had risked everything she had, everything she _was_ , on the belief that this man wanted her, the way she wanted him. Her hands began to shake, doubt rushing through her bloodstream like adrenaline.

_Oh God, what I have I done?_

Shock and shame fought for dominance over Jamie's face and he fumbled, hastily, to apologise. "I… Claire, I-" His words failed him and he stood in front of her awash in anguish that his body hardly seemed capable of containing. His jaw tightened and he clenched his hands tightly into fists, as though he was willing himself to not fly apart.

Silence yawned out between them and Claire discreetly wiped the tears that had formed at the corner of her eyes. When she could not bear the silence any longer she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye.

"Do you wish me to go?"

A look of panic contorted his face and he surged forwards to halt any movement she may make. Even still, he did not touch her.

"No, Sassenach, please… Will ye… Would you like to come in?" he gestured to the water mill to his right.

Claire looked at the sagging structure in confusion. To her it seemed no more than remnants of large, burned cairn.

_Would they not go back to the house?_

Jamie waited, staring at her pleadingly. Doubt ran wild through her mind yet she nodded to him, and with a heavy, uneasy heart, Claire followed Jamie into the mill.

* * *

Inside it was spartan, almost like a monk's cell. The wooden floor was brushed and clean with some threadbare rugs strewn here and there. There was a huge hearth where the last embers of a fire were slowly dying out. Scattered across the mantle of the hearth were a handful of items, mostly books and candles. Beside the fire was a chair and a small stool. In the far corner was a bed with its blanket and pillow neatly folded away for the day, and a small bedside table beside it with a statue of the Virgin Mother and a rosary carefully wrapped in a coil. It took Claire a moment to fully process what she was seeing but when she did she turned to him in shock and said, "You… you live here?"

She hadn't intended to shame him but be bowed his head as if embarrassed and said quietly, "No' all the time, but aye, I come to get away. It's easier than the house. There's a peace here, ye ken?"

She did ken. The mill seemed to have fallen into disuse and Claire hadn't met another soul on her way to this part of the land. As she stood now, the only sounds outside the window came from the gentle lapping of the stream and the evening's birdsong.

When she turned back to look at him he was bent over the hearth stoking the fire and filling a kettle with water for tea. He pulled out the chair and gestured for her to sit on it while he stood against the wall across from her.

"I'm sorry for pulling away from ye, Claire, " he said quietly. "I have seen ye stand before me so many times over the years that I thought perhaps it was just my own cracked mind playing tricks on me. I'm no so accustomed to the touch of others as I once was," he said finally, looking her in the eye. When she met his gaze his voice caught in his throat and he smiled at her, eyes brimming with tears. "It's a fine thing to see ye, Claire. A verra fine thing."

Her heart leap in her chest, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at her mouth.

"I'm very happy to see you, too," she replied in a whisper.

They smiled shyly at each and bowed their heads, gazes fixed to their laps. Claire felt like a teenager at a school dance, stuck to her seat, trapped in polite awkwardness.

She had rehearsed a thousand different words to say to him and yet found herself speechless when confronted with the reality of this moment. Her mind raced but when she tried to calm the frantic thoughts it settled traitorously on the twin images of Jamie drawing back from her hand and Willie's smiling face looking up at her.

Unable to bear it any longer she raised her head to find his gaze, "I met your son."

Jamie jolted where he stood and stared at her in shock. "Claire, please, it's no what ye think."

"I don't know what I think," she said hollowly and felt that swell of emotion that had pressed in on her at Lallybroch surge within anew. Finally, the tears that Claire had been holding at bay since she met Willie on the road finally broke through and try as might to reign them in she cried silently as she sat in the chair. Jamie moved towards her at once and she could feel him kneeling in front of her and willed herself to ignore the distress in his voice. "Sassenach, please, I beg you, dinna cry. I canna bear your tears."

This made her cry all the more for she knew it was true.

"Damn you, Jamie Fraser," she said, sniffling into her sleeve. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to cry, it's just been a very strange day."

A sound escaped Jamie's mouth that was half sob, half laughter, "Aye, I'm starting to get a sense of that."

At length she regained control of herself and her breathing lulled from ragged gasps to the occasional hiccup and sniffle. She took one final deep breath and said, "Can you… can you tell me how… _Oh God_ , can you tell me what happened?"

Jamie blanched at that and stepped back to stand against the wall once more. "There are a great many things that have happened since I've last seen you, Claire."

"I know. To me, too. But can you tell me about Willie, just to start?"

Jamie swallowed and straightened. "Aye, I can do that." He hesitated for a moment and Claire thought that perhaps he was saying a short prayer. When he finished he met her gaze and held it.

"I was held on parole in England for some years."

"Helwater, yes, I know."

His head snapped up in astonishment. Her voice grew coarse with emotion once again. "It's how we found you… how I realised you didn't die at Culloden. Lord John Grey mentions you in his letters."

Jamie nodded gruffly and carried on, "Aye well, then you'll know I was a groom to the Dunsany family. I had previously been a resident of Ardsmuir but the prison was to be turned over to military use and all the Jacobites were transported… save me. I was sent to Helwater. I wasna too happy about it, being separated from my men and set down among folk that hated and feared me."

She didn't think he noticed but he began to pace the room as he spoke. Hand going to his hair, or tapping against his leg, sure signs of his agitation.

"I was put to work outdoors with the horses, which was an ease, true enough, but I was still a prisoner and a Scot to boot. It was a quiet life, but lonely. Willie's mother, Geneva, she was the eldest daughter of Lord Dunsany."

He paused in front of the bed with his back to her to look out the window. Claire watched the muscles in his back tense and her heart raced at such a pace that she could hear her pulse thrum in her ears.

"The lass was brazen. A spoiled wee besom, rude and demanding, but her courage redeem her, I think, for all of that. She was set to be married to the Earl of Ellsmere, an auld artefact of a man, and was no a bit happy about it." He paused again, trying to find his way through his mired thoughts. "She didna want Ellsmere to be the one she first lay with and asked that I… that I… well, ye know. I tried to dissuade her… I should have found a way out of it but…" His words trailed off into silence.

"Why didn't you?" Claire asked him.

Jamie looked up at her as though surprised to be pressed for an answer. He hesitated a moment, gathering his thoughts, or his courage, she wasn't sure.

"Because I didn't want to," he said finally, as if he was finally confessing his sins.

Claire felt his words reverberate through her body, deep and shocking enough to cause her hands to tremble.

"I had no been touched with tenderness in a vera long time," he said meeting her eyes, allowing her to see how close he was to breaking. "I lived alone in a cave for some years and for that time I think I was more animal than man. The night before I was captured and imprisoned, Mary McNab came to me and offered me tenderness. It saw me through years I didna think I'd survive. I thought maybe I could give that to the lass… and take something of it for myself, too."

"God damn you, Jamie Fraser," she said under her breath, wiping the tears that had run down her cheeks.

"And so this Dunsany girl, you got her with child?" she asked, condemnation creeping into her voice

"I did," he answered.

Claire tried desperately to understand. How long was it since she shared a bed with Frank? How much had she missed physical intimacy? But an insidious, dark voice in the back of her mind whispered in her ear.

_You thought him dead. He_ knew _you were alive._

It was with this voice that she finally spoke to him, "The man I knew would not lie with a woman unwed."

She knew she was being unfair even as she said the words but the duel flames of jealousy and rejection blazed within her.

"The man you knew has not existed since ye went through the Stones," he replied.

Whatever fight Claire had intended to put up died on those words and she sank low into the chair.

"Where is the girl now?" she asked.

"She's dead."

Now it was Claire's turn to stare at him in shock.

"She married Ellsmere but she died in childbed," his voice had grown thick with emotion and he bowed his head. Claire imagined he was offering a prayer for the soul of Geneva Dunsany.

She found her emotions warring with each other. A roaring, vicious jealousy vibrated in her blood, but was tempered by an almost unbearable tenderness at the pain recalling the events so clearly caused him.

"How did you come to have the child?" she asked quietly.

"The day Geneva died there was an unmerciful stramash at Ellsmere's estate. He knew the child was not his and refused to give him to the Dunsanys, he wanted the heir he had paid for. He threatened the babe and when it was all over he was dead at my feet and Willie clutched in my arms. Some days later Lady Dunsany came to me and asked if I would want to leave Helwater and go home. But I couldna."

His voice cut off in a choked whisper but when he spoke again his face had softened with the memory of his son and his eyes shone with love.

"I'd held my son in my arms and I couldna walk away from him. So I stayed and as best as my position would allow me, I had a hand in the rearing of the boy for his first six years."

She studied him as he spoke about Willie, the obvious love he had for the boy lighting all the dark corners of his face.

"I stayed too long. People noticed how he favours me and well, while he will always be the Earl of Ellsmere he will also always be known as the bastard of a Scottish Jacobite. After the loss of their daughter, the Dunsany's had lost her taste for society and asked me to take Willie away… so he may be spared the hate and gossip that Helwater had been ensnared in once word got out. That was last July and we've been in Lallybroch since September."

"Were you in love with her?"

She did not know if she had the right to ask the question of him but she could not move forward without knowing.

"No, Claire. I swear it. For a time I thought I might hate her but truly I pitied the lass. She was trapped in a prison of her own, too, I think."

Claire nodded and closed her eyes to take a deep breath, willing herself to regain control. A thought came to her mind though and her eyes shot open and stared at him.

"Wait, Mary McNab? The housekeeper?"

"Aye," Jamie nodded. "'Twas only the one time. It was a kindness she offered me, nothing more."

Claire, no longer able to fight the clawing resentment swirling within her, scoffed, "Oh yes, a real martyr, I'm sure!"

Jamie drew away from her, his own displeasure coming to the fore.

"Ye canna begrudge that, surely?"

"Of course I do, she had your child!"

"That was Geneva, no Mary!"

"Oh my apologies for not keeping track of all your women!"

He drew back from her as if she had struck him.

"All my women? Two nights of lonely desperation in eighteen years and they're 'My women?!' As though I've been doin' no but whoorin' through the Highlands these last two decades?! And were _ye_ no back in your time with Frank? Sharing his bed every night!"

The conversation had run away from her and she was too hurt and too angry to pause and reign it in again.

_"You_ sent me back!" she said, almost snarling at him .

"Aye, I did and _you_ went!" he replied, the accusation ringing out around the room with the finality of a tolling church bell.

She felt his words as if he had ran them through her heart at the point of a blade.

A look of remorse coloured his face immediately and he moved towards her but Claire held up her hand to stop him. She clutched her other hand to her heart as if the mere touch of her palm on her chest could prevent it from breaking.

Much to her own fury she started crying again. Needing to put distance between them, she rose and moved to sit at the window sill, looking out with unseeing eyes at the mountain.

"Damn you, Jamie Fraser," she said, wrapping her heartbreak up in the words. " _Damn you."_

The fight seeped out of Jamie and he sank down to sit on the bed in defeat.

Claire waited for him to speak, to do anything at all. But instead he sat there, head in his hands, and did not say a word.


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then as it was, then again it will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been really bad at replying to people who have been kind enough to leave me responses here. I just want to say a huge thank you to everyone who has read this fic and gone to the effort of responding. I'm seeing it all and really appreciate you doing it. I'll try to be better moving forward.
> 
> This chapter has changed a lot since I first started writing it over a year ago. It was the first piece of this fic I wrote and what I did write back then has basically remained intact. I hope you like it, this is my favourite of the bunch.

Some time later Claire was still at the window sill. The moon was high and bright, filling the room with an ethereal glow of silver moonlight.

"I've not been the man ye marrit for some time, now."

His voice emerged from the darkness, low and burdened.

"Do ye remember what I said to ye at the Stones, before ye went from me?"

Claire heard a hint of accusation in the question but chose to ignore it. "You said a great many things that day."

A sad smile crossed his lips and Claire knew he was reliving those last moments once more.

"Aye, 'tis true for ye. But it was what I said about ripping your own heart out and living without it," he said, meeting her gaze across the room.

Claire felt her heart lurch in her chest in echo of Jamie's words. Her throat was tight and dry when she replied quietly, "I remember."

"I thought I knew what I asked of ye on that hill, what it meant to live without a heart. To live without _you_. But by God, I was a fool."

Claire didn't speak. The pain of their separation hung thick and heavy like smog around them, filling every inch of the room, threatening to suffocate them both. He didn't need to tell her he'd been a fool. She knew all too well.

"I felt apart from it all when I returned from England. I was here, in Lallybroch, but I wasna home. From the day I met ye, Sassenach, you were my home but when I lost ye _…_ "

His words trailed off, his voice growing hoarse again, crackling with emotion. In truth, there were no words to describe what their separation had felt like. To Claire it was beyond language, was more like a sharp and soundless scream that pierced every part of her being. If she closed her eyes she could almost see it. A long, luminous gash, white hot and pulsing. Silently tearing her flesh, growing ever wider, leaving her hollow.

"Living like that for so long, it changes a man. It changed _me_. Made me… less," he said so softly she barely heard him.

"Jenny tried to arrange for me to wed the lass Laoghaire. Ye'll maybe remember her from Leoch?"

"Laoghaire MacKenzie!" Claire exclaimed, completely taken aback. Jamie's mouth twitched slightly at her reaction. Claire blushed instantly and coughed, wanting very much to brush aside her outburst.

"Why didn't you?" she asked, attempting to regain her composure. The thought of Jamie marrying anyone, but most of all Laoghaire _damnable_ MacKenzie, made Claire want to spit fire, and the bloody, smirking bastard knew it.

The smile on his face vanished as suddenly as it had appeared and he grew solemn once more, remembering. "I came verra close to agreeing to it," he said, shifting himself on the side of the bed. It seemed as though with every word he spoke, he grew smaller, shrinking further into himself.

"When Willie and I arrived from Helwater there was nothing for me here. Life had gone on and moved past me. The people I knew were dead or gone and most that remained not knowing me nor me them."

He paused for a second, gathering himself, then took a deep breath and carried on again.

"It pained me... to see Jenny and Ian's bairns, and then _their_ bairns, in the house or up in the fields. I couldna escape the thought that it should have been _our_ children. _Our life_. I didna begrudge Jenny and Ian a thing but everywhere I looked I was faced with what I had lost."

He paused again and Claire observed him, her breath held, as he considered his empty palms.

"In Ardsmuir I was a chief; in Helwater I was a the groom. But I could no be Laird, here. Could no be your husband. I had no place. No purpose. All I had to my name was the long, empty years ahead of me and nothing to fill them with but a grief so complete that I could hardly breathe. I couldna bear it a moment longer. I would have tried anything, I think, to fill that hole."

"What happened?" she asked, half afraid to hear the answer but unable to stop the question tumbling out of her mouth.

"I needed meaning to my life again; I knew Laoghaire needed me to care for her and her bairns, I wanted to provide Willie with a family if I could manage it, but mostly I was so verra tired and so verra lonely."

"Christ, Jamie," Claire whispered. Tears filled her eyes, momentarily blinding her.

Jamie looked her straight in the eye when he spoke and the brutal honesty laid plain on his face tore her heart asunder.

"I didn't know if marrying Laoghaire would help, but I hoped… aye, I did hope. To have hope at all, after so long without it, seemed reason enough to do it."

He didn't speak for a time, but sat there on the bed, shoulders rounded, hands clasped between his knees and eyes staring at the floor, lost in a memory Claire would never know. Every cell in her body urged her to prompt him but she bit her lip and allowed him the time he needed to find his words. Finally, he lifted his head and for an instant she saw some of the roguish, honourable young man he had once been, hiding among the crumpled rags and wild hair of the wretch that sat before her.

"In the end I decided that marrying someone I didna love would be the loneliest thing of all and so I told Jenny to put an end to it and I came up here," he said quietly.

Claire immediately looked down to where her gold ring had once sat. She knew the loneliness of a loveless marriage, better than most, but she wondered if it was more isolating than this. Alone, on a mountain, with the walls crumbling around you.

"And you found peace here?" she asked gently.

"Aye, I did, of a kind" he answered.

Silence embraced the room once more and it was several breaths before she found her voice.

"Have I intruded on your peace? Do you want me to go?"

His head snapped up so sharply she was tempted to examine him for whiplash. "No!" he said firmly. His eyes wide enough that she could see their whites. "No, I don't want you to go, Sassenach. I… I verra much want you to stay."

Relief washed over Claire and she nodded her head in response. Silence stretched out before them again. Claire peered across the room at him, the pain of his words laying heavy on her mind.

He had suffered. More than she could ever know. Did she mean to add to that suffering? Did she mean to add to her own?

"We have a daughter," she said suddenly. Her voice cutting through the silence of the room, taking them both by surprise. She didn't know she was going to say the words until they were already out of her mouth.

He lifted his head up slowly, eyes bright and wide. "A daughter? Truly?"

Claire felt tears come to her eyes. Overwhelmed with the reality of finally being able to speak those words to him.

"Truly," she whispered. "She… she came with me, through the Stones."

A shudder went through Jamie's body and for a second Claire thought he was going to faint. His breath caught in his chest and his eyes grew round with amazement. An expression of unrestrained joy lit his face but was almost immediately snuffed out with one of alarm.

 

"Where is she? Is she outside?" he asked in a panic.

He looked down at the dirty, crumpled clothes he was wearing and put his hand to his head and futilely tried to smooth out his hair.

A throb of pure, unadulterated love and affection pierced Claire's heart as she observed his frantic attempts to make himself presentable.

He looked up at her stricken. "Christ, Sassenach, why did ye no say earlier? I canna meet my child looking like a blaggard."

He leaned across the bed to the nightstand and began ransacking the drawer in pursuit of something unknown. Claire extended her hand as if to halt his frenzied actions.

"She's at the house, Jamie, with Jenny and… and Willie. You'll meet her in the morning," she said soothingly.

A sigh of relief released the tension from his shoulders and face. When he looked up at her his eyes were filled with tears of joy.

"A daughter!" he said, laughing almost in awe of it. "What did ye call her, Claire?"

"Brianna Ellen. For your parents. She… she is the one who found you," her voice caught in her throat and she had to pause for a moment to continue. "She is so like you, Jamie," she said finally, voice rough with emotion.

He dipped his head again and Claire saw his shoulders begin to jerk up in down as he wept.

He looked up at her and smiled brokenly, "Not a day has passed since ye went from me that I have not prayed for ye, that ye would be safe. You and the child. In all the dreams I had of you in that time, I never thought I'd have you stand before me once more, Sassenach. I never thought to have ye both."

"I prayed for you, too," she said softly. "That we would find each other again."

More than anything Claire wanted to go to him, to lay gentle hands on him, to share this moment. But observing him from across the room she saw his hands cling on to the edge of the bed as if to keep himself upright. She could still feel herself flinch as he pulled away from her outside the mill and it sent a sinking, empty feeling to the pit of her stomach. _No_ , she thought, she would not move towards him without his say so.

Minutes passed before he spoke again and when he looked up it seemed to Claire that he had made a decision with himself.

"I dinna know how we mend all that is broken between us, Claire. Nor how we reconcile these lost years. But before, when we were first wed and unused to each other, it… it helped when I touched ye."

It was true. So often in those early days she found herself torn between the impossibility of what had happened to her, the belief that she _should_ go back to Frank and the startling truth of what she felt for Jamie. But when Jamie touched her all the world would fall away until there was nothing but just the two if them, alone in a moment.

So many times in Boston when she had felt like she couldn't go on she would instinctively reach out for him, to anchor herself to the certainty of their bond. All their time apart, far longer than they had been together, her body had never forgotten that instinct. Being within touching distance of him now, her body responded even more insistently, craving his embrace and the completion of their bond.

"Would you… would you lie with me now?" he asked, gently. "Just so I can hold you. Perhaps it may ease us both as it once did."

"Are you sure?" she asked warily.

"Aye, lass, I willna turn from ye again."

Claire hesitated for a moment and then moved from the window sill and walked to the side of the bed. She stopped a few feet in front of Jamie, suddenly remembering her gown. Never dropping his gaze she began to remove her dress, piece by piece, until she stood before him in nothing but her shift.

She felt exposed, laid bare under his gaze. He swallowed visibly and she saw a slight tremor in his hands as he removed his own clothing. First his shoes, then socks and breeks, finally standing before her in his shirt.

He hesitated for only a moment and laid down on the bed. He clasped his fingers across his stomach, looking to Claire with an expression that was a combination of hope and terror.

She pulled up her shift enough to climb onto the bed beside him. He held his body rigid, his eyes never losing track of her movements, as if she was something deadly hurtling towards him and he was readying himself for impact. She inched herself over until she could lay her head in the crook of his shoulder and press herself fully along his side. He gasped when they made contact. Claire could feel his heart racing under her cheek and when she lifted her head to look at him she could see the tracks of tears slowly rolling down his face. "What is it, Jamie?" she asked, quickly scanning him for injury. An expression of pure wonder spread across his face and he turned to her and said softly, "Home."

* * *

"I… I wish to ask something of you?" Claire said, some time later, voice tentative and small in darkened room.

Jamie pulled away from Claire as much as the pillow would allow and turned to look at her. Slowly, with just the slightest trace of uncertainty, he brought his right hand to her face. He tucked the palm of his hand under her left ear, cupping her head as his thumb tenderly traced across her cheekbone. The touch of his skin on her's sent Claire's heart racing. Bright, hot flashes of pleasure shot straight across her chest and down the inside of her arms.

"Anything, Claire," he replied.

She held his gaze for a moment, silently basking in him until finally she whispered, pleading, _"Kiss me?"_

Her voice shook as she spoke, trying and failing to contain the longing held within those two words. A tremor went through Jamie's body. "God yes," he said, desperately, moving his face towards hers. His heart was racing now too, the grief of each and every one of their years apart echoing from Jamie's breast, into Claire's and back again, an infinite loop of love and pain and perhaps now finally, healing too.

When his lips touched Claire's, she thought she might die from the feel of his mouth, demanding and tentative all at once. Her heart clenched tight as a fist and held itself, like a breath, for what felt like forever but must have only been a few seconds. Tears sprang unbidden from her eyes and ran down her face to mingle with his tears.

"Claire," he murmured brokenly against her mouth, "Oh God, Claire."

They clung to each other, clumsy with shyness, but having made contact they simply didn't know how to let go. Finally, breathless, they pulled away just enough to rest their foreheads against the other's.

"I'd forgotten what was like to be kissed like that," she said softly as she traced his lower lip with her fingertips.

He returned his hand to her face and very gently he tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. "There was days when I couldna remember anything else but the taste of your mouth. I tried verra hard to forget, for it near drove me mad to remember, but I couldna. I couldna forget a single second I had with ye, Claire."

She leaned forward and kissed his lips again, sweet and gentle. Jamie sighed into the embrace but reluctantly pulled back before it grew passionate.

"I may no have made it verra clear this evening but I need ye to know that I want ye, Sassenach. More than anything. But before we continue I have a question of my own, ye ken?"

Claire stiffened at his words and turned to look at him more clearly.

"Yes, of course. I'll answer anything you ask of me."

He nodded at that and took a deep breath before giving voice to what was troubling him.

"Why have you come back, Sassenach?" he asked, finally.

Claire was taken aback by the question. "Well, is it not obvious?!," she replied in astonishment, gesturing to their bodies snugly wrapped together.

"Indeed it's not!," he said in exasperation, finally finding his spirit. "You're no back a full day an' already ye've cursed me a dozen times over."

"Well you deserved it, didn't you!?!"

He sighed and smiled, the tension in his body easing slightly. "Aye, I suppose I did. But that still doesna answer my question."

He allowed the mask that shielded his emotions to fall away and looked at her nakedly, letting her see how fragile he felt. How unsure. How frightened.

He continued, a slight tremor in his voice.

"If you have come so I can meet my daughter then I will think myself lucky, but if ye intend to leave again… I will need to set myself apart from ye. To have ye and lose ye again will kill me outright."

This sobered Claire and she turned more fully to face him on the bed. Slowly she brought her finger to his face and with a feather touch she traced the lines of his nose, long and straight. Down then and across his cheekbones, along the strong curve of his jaw, slowly over the stubble of his neck and throat and back up to his lips, which parted slightly and puckered to kiss her finger tips.

"Dear God, you are so beautiful," she whispered, her hand still reverently stroking his skin. He immediately blushed, the pink tinge spreading across his cheekbones and reaching as far as the tips of his ears. A wide, joyous smile spread across her face at seeing this and she wondered aloud, "How did I do without you for so long?"

His blush deepened further but the tension lessened in his shoulders and his lips twitched with humour. "So yer telling me ye came back for my beauty, is it? Surely there was more wondrous things to be found in your time than my ruddy backside, Sassenach?"

He had spoken in jest but her face grew serious, "Nothing I have seen in this time or any other compares to you, Jamie Fraser."

His breath caught in his throat and he inhaled sharply.

"Claire, please…" he whispered, pleading.

She stroked his face once more, slowly committing the feel of him to memory. Finally, she looked at him and said softly, "For you, my love. For you."

She kissed him gently; the sealing of a promise. Claire felt him shudder, his whole body, quivering from head to toe.

"Jamie, you're trembling," she said, moving towards him and running her hands over every inch of him that she could touch.

"Aye, I canna seem to stop," he said, smiling, aiming for humour but not quite hitting the mark.

Claire felt her heart constrict in her chest. "Do you-- do you wish to stop? Is this too much?"

This caused Jamie to shake even more and he pulled Claire closer as if to anchor himself to her. "All this time without ye, Claire, ye existed nowhere but in my own heart and in my own mind. After awhile I began to wonder had I dreamed it all? It hardly seemed real but here ye are in my arms again and I dinna know what I want to do more, ravish ye or crawl into yer lap and weep like a wee bairn."

For a moment Claire felt herself caught in the same predicament. Wanting all at once to claim his body as hers once more, while equally wanting to weep in gratitude for a world that allowed her to find this man again.

"Do you trust me, Jamie?" she asked softly.

His breath hitched and then he leaned into her more fully. "Aye, Sassenach, more than bears reason," he replied softly.

She kissed him, sweet and lingering on his lips, cupping his cheek in her palm. "Close your eyes," she said gently.

He trembled with anticipation as he did her bidding. In one graceful fluid motion she sat up, drawing her arms across her body and brought her shift up and over her head, letting it flutter to floor beside the bed. He opened his eyes and an indecipherable sound escaped his mouth, halfway between a gasp and a moan. Claire, displaying a confidence that she did not truly possess, sat on her knees and allowed him to look at her. His eyes trailed slowly up over every inch of skin, taking all of her in. When he finally met her gaze, his eyes were filled with a look of such sincere love it took Claire's breath away.

"Now you, Jamie, let me see you."

Jamie sat up quickly to pull his shirt off and lay back down. For a moment she was entranced by the sight of him. He was still a powerfully built man. Long and lean, his frame corded in thick muscle. Her gaze settled on the motley collection of unfamiliar scars that marred his skin; the long gash at his thigh and short jagged line across his ribs. She traced her fingers gently along these lines, a map of his life without her.

" _Claire_ ," he begged.

She smiled down at him, eyes shining with love and put her hand on his chest and raised her leg to sit astride him. The feeling of her skin upon his skin was electric and she paused a moment to savour the sensation. She looked down at him, his chest heaving as his breathing became ragged. His cock lay flat and hard against his stomach, straining for her attention.

She licked her lips and knew if she placed her hand between her legs she would find herself slick with wetness. In that moment she felt free. As if a lock that had held her apart from her own body had been removed and the chains of confinement simply fell away. She reached up and pulled her hair loose from its binding and let it fall about her shoulders. Jamie's breath caught in his throat and Claire looked at him, eyes dancing with mischief and her mouth pulled into a small, smug grin.

She leaned forward and placed her hands on either side of his shoulders. She bent her head to his ear and whispered in a breathy voice, "May I kiss you?"

He whimpered and nodded his head, his hips jerking up instinctively at the feel of her warm breath on his neck. Claire smiled and moved as if to kiss his lips, leaning into him, brow to brow, nose to nose. At the last second, when he was straining up to touch her, she pulled away. He groaned and sank back down in defeat.

Claire chuckled softly at this and then settled herself along his body so her weight pressed him snugly into the mattress. She took his lips between her own and kissed him until his toes curled. She teased her tongue along the seam of his lips until gasping, he opened his mouth more fully and his tongue sought out hers. It was a luxurious sensation. As if time itself had stopped and there was nothing but his lips, and his hands and their hearts beating furiously against each other.

When she drew back Jamie began to tremble again and a single tear slid down his cheek. She caught it on her tongue and then kissed his eyelids, first one and then the other. With slow, gentle movements she made her way down his body. His cheekbones, his neck, pausing for a second to suckle on the skin at his pulse point, leaving him breathless. She carried on her journey, across his collar bones and his nipples. She placed one gentle, tender kiss over the beat of his heart and it drew a soft sob from him, her lips reawakening his skin with their loving touch.

She put her mouth to his stomach and tasted him from rib to hip, purposefully avoiding his cock that lay stiff and pulsing against his abdomen. She watched him struggle to not lift his hips but finally she took pity on him and drew her tongue along the underside of his cock, from base to tip. She paused at the head and sucked it for moment, drawing the small amount of fluid that had gathered there, onto her tongue.

His eyes shot open, his hands burying themselves in her hair and she was certain that she could hear him reciting the rosary under his breath.

She sat up again and took his hand in hers. He watched her as she turned and kissed the inside of his wrist at the place where they had made their vow to each other, bound in blood.

She put his arm back down and then holding his gaze, she took his cock in hand and raised herself up until the tip of him grazed her entrance.

"I'm real, Jamie," she said, breathless, rubbing his penis along her flesh. "Feel me," she said, finally sinking down and drawing him inside, "Feel us."

Jamie groaned, his eyes rolling back in his head, and instinctively grasped her hips and raised his own to meet her. Claire hissed at the burn of her flesh; for the first time, in a long time, parted by more than her own fingers. She closed her eyes and undulated her hips in a slow, deliberate rotation, taking her time to find the rhythm of them once more.

Claire felt Jamie slide his hands slowly along her side, as if trying to relearn the feel of her under his palm. His hands moved to cup her breasts and she groaned, deep and long, feeling her nipples tighten with arousal. He rolled the tips between his thumb and forefinger and Claire almost growled at the sensation, grinding her hips down into Jamie's.

"Oh God, Claire," Jamie gasped, his pace quickening and becoming erratic. "I canna, I canna hold on." At this Claire clamped down on Jamie and he froze below her. With a groan brought up from the tips of his toes, he spilled himself inside her.

As his orgasm receded he became aware of Claire whimpering above him, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth in concentration as she moved against him, fingers grazing her clit, desperately trying to find her release. Oversensitive from his own climax, Jamie shuddered with her every movement. He placed his hand to where their bodies were joined and fixed his thumb at the small bundle of nerves.

"Look at me, Sassenach," he said. Claire's eyes fluttered open and met Jamie's across the breadth of their bodies. He felt the muscles of his stomach clench at the naked want in her eyes. "Aye, there's a good lass. Ride me, Claire. Go on, that's it, take your pleasure from me."

Claire redoubled her efforts and leaned forward to place her hands upon his chest. Jamie continued to press his thumb to her clit, varying pressure until _yes_ , _there_ , he found the spot she was looking for and increased his pace. Claire jerked against him and began to ride him furiously, chasing her climax.

"Yes, God, yes. Yes, Jamie! _Mmmm_ yes, there. Oh God, there.Yes, Yes, **_Yes_!** " she said, in a breathless tumble of words.

Her breath hitched and her movements came to a quivering stop. With her eyes closed she smiled dreamily, as though she had become suddenly and completely drunk, and then slowly folded herself in two to lie atop his body, murmuring contentedly to herself.

Jamie's mouth twitched in amusement and began to stroke Claire's hair and back. A peace settled over them both that they had not known in nearly two decades.

"I'll ask yer pardon for the abrupt proceedings, mo nighean donn," he said quietly, breaking the silence. "I've had no but the company of my own hand for quite some time now, ye ken," he said, smiling bashfully.

She lifted her head up off his chest and raised herself up enough to kiss him. "It was perfect," she said, and sighed happily as she lay back down.

"As ye say, Sassenach" he said, smiling faintly to himself, "As ye say."

And they slept, wrapped in each other's arms, sated and whole and home.


	8. A Brand New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more reunion awaits Jamie.

As though his dreams had been made reality, Jamie woke the following morning to find his wife still cradled against his chest. After years of choking grief, in his arms, her body felt like breath itself. Gently he ran his hands down the soft sigh of her back. He lingered for a moment at the gasp of her waist, so narrow that the breadth of his spread palm spanned its entire width. He then moved his hand lower to where her hips swept wide in exhalation, until he found himself grasping her buttock. He allowed his touch to idle here, until Claire pushed her hips insistently against him. 

He chuckled and bent to kiss her lips, "Good morning, mo nighean donn," he whispered against her mouth. 

She lifted her head slightly to meet him and return his kiss, sighing in contentment and sinking back down to the pillow of his chest. "Hmm… yes it is," she said, almost to herself. 

"What time is it?" she asked, stroking his side with her fingertips. 

Jamie turned his head to look out the window, "Just after dawn, I think." 

"Good," she said, running her hand down his side to stroke his thigh. "We still have time." 

"Oh do we now?" Jamie said, grinning like a fool. He bent to bite her ear, "Ye're a hungry wee thing, Sassenach." 

"Mmm," she said, arching into his touch. "And don't you forget it," she moved her hand to grasp his cock, which lay hard against his leg. "Quite the appetite yourself, my lad." 

Jamie moaned and pushed his hips into her hand. She smiled smugly at this and tried to push him onto his back but he stopped her. 

"No, Sassenach, ye had yer way with me last night and now I mean to have mine," he said huskily. He rolled them over until Claire was flat on her back and he was cradled between her spread thighs. He held himself up high on his hands and gazed down on her, smiling. Slowly he ran his fingers over the plane of her body. "There was a time when I kent yer body better than I did my own, Sassenach." His fingers lingered on her nipples, moving from one to the other, rolling and pinching, causing the flesh around them to rise and pebble. His eyes met hers and darkened with arousal, "I mean to find the ways of ye again." 

Claire shivered at his words and reached her hand up to slide into his hair and pull him to her. He allowed her this and bent to her lips. He took his time about it, as though he had his whole life to revel in her kiss. At length he pulled away and she whimpered, her lips swollen from his touch. "Your mouth tastes like sweet mint, Sassenach. We're ye chewing on yer wee herbs?" 

Claire blushed slightly, "Erm… no, I uh… I brought some mint sweets with me through the Stones. They freshen the breath." 

Jamie gazed down at her and smirked knowingly, "Freshen the breath is it? Rather sure of yerself there, lass, were ye?" 

Claire arched her eyebrow at him indignantly, "Well considering your erection is currently poking the inside of my thigh I think I was rather well prepared, don't you?" 

This drew a genuine belly laugh from him and he bent to kiss her lips again, sighing in contentment as he pulled away. "I think I could stay forever feasting upon your lips, Sassenach, but I want to taste all of ye," he said, his voice low, and then he moved down to suckle on her neck. 

"Ye taste like salt here," he said, drawing his lips along the column of her throat. "Bright and sharp on my tongue." 

"Here too," his voice muffled as he drew his mouth across her collarbones, dipping his tongue into the valleys above her bones and below her throat, where sweat gathered upon her skin. 

" _Mmmhmm_ ," Claire answered distractedly, eyes closed and hands clasping the bed frame above her head. 

He smiled against her skin and moved lower still until his gaze rested on the swell of her breasts. Claire's breathing had transitioned from heavy to heaving, lifting Jamie's face up and down as he journeyed over her skin. He lay his head between her breasts and drew in a breath of his own, allowing her scent to fill his senses. He then took one breast into his mouth and drew his tongue around her nipple until she whimpered. 

"Ye taste like some sort of flower here, mo nighean donn." He moved to her other breast, framed by the cradle of his forefinger and thumb and brought her nipple to standing. 

" _Jesus_ ," Claire hissed, her hips rising against him involuntarily. 

"It's… _oh fuck_ … it's lavender," she said, nearly panting by now. 

"Oh aye? It minds me of taking ye out in the heather," Jamie said, finally moving away from her flushed, aching breasts and inching down her torso. "With yer skirts up around yer senses and ye begging me to touch ye." 

" _Jamie_ ," she said, pleading. 

"Aye, just like that," he said grinning, moving ever lower, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. 

"You bloody bastard," she muttered under her breath but he did not have time to respond as he found himself at the meeting of her thighs. 

He took her legs in his hands and spread them wide and then lifted them to rest atop his shoulders. He then bent his head to take in the scent of her, a heady mix of heat and brine and musk. " _Mo bhean_ ," he sighed happily. _My wife_. 

The first touch of his tongue against her flesh had Claire bucking against him. "Easy, mo nighean donn," he said soothingly and moved his hand from the tops of her thighs to lie flat and low against her belly, holding her still. He then set about his work, tasting her. He drew his tongue up along the parting of her flesh until he reached her clit and swept his tongue around it, taking his time to lap the underside, making her toes curl. 

Slowly Claire began to lose herself in the sensations he was wringing from her body. Her head tossed from side to side on the pillow and she spoke a stream of nonsense under her breath. When he brought his tongue to her entrance and pushed it inside her body convulsed violently. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ," she said, eyes rolling in her head and hands flying into his hair to pull him closer. 

Jamie stayed like this for a time, punctuated between the parting of her thighs, articulating with lips and teeth and tongue what he could not say in words. Every touch of his flesh on her flesh spoke his truth, and Claire responded in kind. The rise of her hips, the clutching grasp of her hand in his hair, and the bite of her lip, told him all he needed to know. The two of them together finding a language long lost. 

When her body was shaking with desire he finally retraced the path of kisses he had left on her skin until he could kiss her lips once more, his cock held pulsing and ready in his hand. 

"Do ye want me, Sassenach?" he whispered against her ear. 

Claire's body throbbed with desire and she pushed up against him insistently. "Yessss, Jamie, _please_." 

Jamie's balls tightened and he had to pull his hips back a fraction to regain control of himself. He put his mouth to her neck and sucked on the sensitive point where it joined her shoulder. 

"Where do ye want me, Claire?" 

She took his cock from his hand and brought it to the entrance of her body. "Here," she said, gasping, " _Now_." 

He drew his cock along her flesh and gasped. She was hot and throbbing, her folds sopping wet with desire. "Christ lass," he said softly. He gently touched her inner thigh and pulled her legs open so to have better access. He returned his hand to her folds, rolling her clit between his fingers, driving her past the point of sanity. 

" _Jamie_ ," moaned, begging him. 

A shiver of desire went through Jamie's body and with one sure movement of his hips, thrust inside his wife. 

Claire's mouth opened in a silent gasp and Jamie's eyes rolled back in his head. "Jesus Christ, ye're as tight as a wee drum, Sassenach," he said, hissing. Her legs immediately wrapped around his back and dug into his backside. 

Once more Claire drew him down to her with her hand in his hair and as he kissed her mouth. He drew back so only the tip of his cock remained inside and then slammed into her, rattling the frame of the bed. Claire called his name out, unable to contain herself and together they set a pace, hips snapping rhythmically in sync. 

He pushed himself up on his hands, continuing to move inside her. "Look at me, Claire, I want to see ye." 

Slowly Claire opened her eyes and looked at him dazedly. "Will ye touch yerself, Sassenach, I want to see ye pleasure yerself while I'm inside ye." 

He felt Claire shudder from head to toe at his words before she did as he asked. She moved her hands to her breasts and grasped them, squeezing. She closed her eyes and one hand pinched her nipples until they stood erect, while the other slid down her body until she was rolling her clit between her fingers and moaning his name. 

Jamie groaned, a sound that echoed from deep in his chest, and increased his pace. "Are ye ready, mo nighean donn? I want to feel ye tremble around me." 

" _Mmmm, Jamie yes, yes, now, please_ , " she said desperately and so he increased his movements to a punishing pace that sent them both tumbling over the edge into orgasm. Claire froze and Jamie felt her walls tighten and then quiver around him, triggering his own release. 

They both sighed in satisfaction and then sunk deep into the mattress, wrapped up in the blanket and each other's arms. 

* * *

Later, he moved them so Claire's back rested snugly against his chest. He placed his hand low and possessive on her belly, as though she was swollen with child. Claire rested her own hand over his and squeezed. 

"Do ye think she'll like me, Claire?" he asked quietly, allowing her to hear the worry in his voice. 

Claire turned in his arms and cupped his cheek. "She will love you, Jamie," she said with conviction. "She came here to know you, so that you could know _her_. It was her choice. I was going to come on my own but she came running after me." 

His eyebrows raised slightly at this and Claire laughed. 

"She has a taste for the dramatic," she said, smiling, "Like her father!" 

"I'm no dramatic!" he said, indignantly, raising up on one arm to look at her. 

"Oh yes you are, Mr-Ride-Into-a-Witch-Trial-and-Challenge-Everyone-to-a-Duel," she said, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

"Well, they were trying to burn ye at the stake, Sassenach, as ye might recall," he said, mouth twitching. 

She snorted and pulled him down to wrap her arms around him once more, "I'm not likely to forget." 

They lay in silence for a moment and then Claire said quietly against his chest, "I have to tell Jenny the truth. I can't lie to her any longer… and I think she will burn me alive anyway if I try." 

Jamie smiled knowingly and then nodded, "We'll tell her together, aye? She'll want my head on a pike as much as yours." 

Claire squeezed his side and turned her head up to look at him, "To the pyre together, then? Hmm?" she asked. 

He leaned forward and tilted her chin up and kissed her. "Wherever ye go, from this day forth, I shall be with ye, Sassenach. To the gates of Heaven or the pits of Hell." 

"Do you swear it?" she asked, heart pounding in her chest. 

"I swear it," he whispered, "I will not allow us to part again." And then kissed her lips, to seal his promise. 

Claire sighed in relief and lay her head down, feeling herself surrender to the heavy pull of sleep, the beat of his heart echoing in her ear. 

* * *

They woke an hour or so later and rose, ready to face the day ahead. Claire poured water into a basin from the kettle Jamie had put on the fire the night before and washed with a cloth. Jamie had gone outside into the stream to wash, feeling that he needed something a bit more rigorous to make him presentable. 

Claire was dressed and making the bed by the time he returned. His skin was scrubbed red and his hair was damp and untangled. He carried a neat bundle of clothes tucked under his arm. Claire straightened up and peered at him, "What have you got there?" 

Jamie set the package down and opened it slowly to reveal the smooth folded outline of Fraser tartan. Claire gasped and looked at him, "Jamie! Is it safe? If the Redcoats were to see you…" 

Her words trailed off while she watched him reverently run his palm over the cloth, lost in memory. 

He raised his eyes to meet her, fierce and determined, "The Redcoats havena been around these parts in years," he said. "If I am to meet my daughter then I shall do it as the Highland man that I am." 

Claire felt her heart ache with love. She walked around the bed and raised herself up on her toes, putting her hands around his neck and kissed his lips. She pulled back to look at him and whispered softly. 

"Come then, James Fraser, your daughter is waiting for you." 

* * *

Bree woke early the next morning. Her body so thrumming with nervous energy that she found she was unable to lie still and so she got up, got washed and dressed and made her way down to the kitchen where her Aunt Jenny, Uncle Ian and Willie were all eating. 

The house was quiet. All the other family had returned to their own homes after the wedding and their youngest had gone with their siblings to visit. 

Brianna sat and ate her food as best she could but she found that she was sick with thoughts of what the day would bring. When the plates were cleared she began pacing the kitchen. 

"Lass, yer like a hen with an egg," Jenny said in exasperation. She placed a basket of tangled yarn in her hands, "Go on out to the front steps and put yerself to rightin' this mess." 

Brianna nodded mutely at her aunt and headed out to the steps with the basket clutched to her chest. 

She had been working at it for ten minutes before Willie arrived. Dressed in breeks, shirt and waistcoat, he sat down closely beside her and put his two hands on his knees, smiling up at her. 

"Aunt Jenny says you're my sister," he said matter of factly, as if he had just informed her the sun was yellow. 

"Well you don't beat around the bush, do you?" she said laughing. "Yes, it looks like I am your sister. I hope you don't mind terribly?" 

His eyes went wide and he blushed as he tried to answer hastily, "Oh no! Not at all!" 

He was quiet for a moment but Brianna could see him working himself up to something. 

"What is it?" she asked. He held his tongue for a few more seconds, trying to find the right words. 

"Mac said--" he began but Brianna cut him off. 

"Wait, who's Mac?" 

He looked at her as if she had asked him her own name. "Jamie!" he said, rolling his eyes. 

"Oh!" Brianna said, "Why do you call him Mac?" 

"He's always been Mac to me," he said simply, as if that was the only explanation needed but Brianna decided to let it slide for now. 

"OK, carry on with what you were saying." 

"Well, he said we would be a family with Mistress McKimmie and the girls. But then that didn't happen. I think it would have been nice to have a family." 

Brianna didn't quite know what Willie was talking about but her heart broke for the little boy nonetheless. She realised how lucky she had been to have been raised the way she was. 

"I bet it would have been a very nice family," Brianna said gently. She hesitated for a moment and then asked. "Do you think you might like to be a family with me and my mom?" 

He looked at her hopeful but wary. 

Warming to the idea herself, she continued, "After all, I am your big sister and if you feel like you can share Mac with me, I know I can share Mom with you." 

"You'd share? Truly? But why?" 

"Promise you won't tell?" 

He nodded his head gravely. Brianna smiled and was suddenly very grateful to have him here. 

"Well, the thing is, I'm a little afraid about meeting Mac for the first time. I didn't know about him until a few months ago. I grew up with another man as my father. So, I think I need a brother like you to help me find my way. What do you think?" 

Willie nodded his head along thoughtfully, immediately taking his role as brother very seriously. He reached out and patted her hand reassuringly. "I can help but you don't need to worry. Mac is kind. He teaches you how to ride horses and tells stories and he even carves things. He made me a snake!" 

"He did!" Brianna said, matching his enthusiasm, "Can you show me?" 

With that he was up and careening through the house, in search of his bounty. Brianna watched him leave and turned her back still chuckling at him. She looked to her right, up towards the mountain and saw her mother walking arm in arm with a huge, red headed man. 

Brianna's heart stopped dead in her chest and the ball of yarn she had been untangling rolled down her lap to the step. 

He was tall, taller than she imagined. He wore full Highland regalia, his plaid wrapped in a kilt around his waist and then draped across his chest and shoulder. He looked every bit the Jacobite warrior her mother had described. 

She watched them both closely. Her mother's hair was down, bursting in a cloud of curls about her head. They still hadn't noticed her, heads bowed intimately, their happiness in each other as obvious in the gait of their walks as it was their smiling faces. 

Just before they got to the yard Jamie looked up and saw her. He gasped and stopped suddenly. She watched as her mother look up at him in concern and then down to Brianna at the front of the steps. 

Her mother beamed, a huge wide smile, and waved at her. Brianna waved back weakly and then moved slowly forward to meet her parents, her heart jack-hammering in her chest. 

* * *

Claire was beside herself with excitement. Behind her Jamie stood stuck to the spot, rendered speechless by the sight of his daughter. Down the path to the front of the house she could see Brianna nervously smoothing down her hair and wringing her hands. All at once she was indescribably in love with them both and their sweet, gentle apprehensions. 

She pulled on Jamie's hand, "Come on, no time like the present." 

Jamie didn't move, instead he looked to Claire, eyes wide with panic. "Claire, what will I say? _What will I do?_ " 

Her eyes softened and she turned and drew him into her arms, her palm cupping his cheek. "She is just as nervous as you are. I'll be right there. It will be fine. I promise." 

She kissed his lips gently and he nodded his head and swallowed before following behind her. 

When they got to the yard Claire let go of Jamie's hand and went over to take Brianna in her arms. 

"Mom he's huge!" Brianna whispered in her ear and Claire chuckled. 

"Yes, I know dear, but don't worry. He's a teddy bear and he's terrified. Just be yourself. You'll both find your way." 

Brianna nodded her head and took a deep breath but before she made her way to Jamie. 

Claire hung back just slightly to give them some privacy but stayed close enough to take it all in. When Brianna stopped in front of Jamie he smiled shyly at her and in a burst of nervous energy Brianna stuck her hand out to introduce herself. "Brianna Ellen… _Fraser_ ," she said, her voice just slightly tripping over the last name, still unused to using it. 

Jamie made an indistinguishable sound and his mouth dropped open. He looked over Brianna's shoulder to Claire and she knew he was remembering their wedding day, when she had offered him the same gesture before they went into the church. Claire nodded her head encouragingly and watched as Jamie gently took Brianna's outstretched hand in his and covered it with his other hand. He bowed before her and then rose to meet her gaze, "James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Your servant, Madam." 

Brianna's eyes went round as saucers. "I… Am I supposed to curtsy?" 

A smiled twitched at the corner of Jamie's mouth, "Ye could lass, but there's no need. I… I only wanted to… well, I am very honoured to meet ye, Brianna." 

Claire watched Brianna smile at Jamie, the genuine warmth of it reaching her eyes. "I'm very happy to meet you, too… Uh, do I have to call you all those names?" 

A pink blush coloured Jamie's cheeks and Claire had to snort into her hand to stop from laughing out loud. 

"No lass, ye can call me Jamie if that's easiest for ye." 

"Hmmm… that seems a bit formal. What did you call your father?" 

"I called him Da," he said softly. 

"Da. _Da_ ," Brianna said, trying it on for size. "I don't think it quite fits my accent, what about Dad?" 

Jamie's eyes brightened and he smiled widely. "Aye lass, that'd do fine." 

Before anyone could say another word Jenny appeared behind them with a basket of food in her hand. Claire watched her as she allowed herself a moment to enjoy the sight of her brother and his daughter together. 

She came down the steps and stood beside Jamie and Brianna. She eyed Jamie's plaid and nodded her head subtly in approval. 

"Here ye are now, some food for the day. Jamie, take the lass on up the mountain and show her the lands. The rest of us will keep here, aye?" 

Claire watched Jamie nod mutely to Jenny and thought he was probably incredibly thankful to his sister for her knowing intercession. 

With that, Jenny handed Brianna the basket of provisions and they set off to start their day. 


	9. To Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New bonds are forged.

When Claire entered the house she met Willie in the hallway holding a small wooden snake in his hand.

_Sawny?_ she thought faintly.

"Where's Brianna?" Willie asked, trying to look around Claire to the yard.

"She spending the day with your father," Claire said gently.

"Oh," Willie said and dropped his head in disappointment to look at the floor.

Jenny emerged from the parlour and looked at Willie and then to Claire. She had the same gleam in her eye as she did when she was sending Jamie and Brianna on their way.

"Willie, a bhalaich, Claire here hasna been to Lallybroch in a quite some time. Would ye mind showing her around today?" Jenny said to her nephew but looked at Claire, her eyebrow raised in question. Claire smiled and nodded her head in agreement.

Claire moved to kneel in front of Willie. "You would be a very great help to me, Willie, and perhaps, if Aunt Jenny doesn't mind, you could help me work in the garden? It has been an awfully long time since I've tended the plants."

Claire turned to Jenny and she nodded.

Willie took his time considering this and finally put forth his terms, "Can I have another bannock before I go?"

Claire and Jenny both laughed and Jenny swatted him with her hand, "Aye lad, go into the kitchen and fill yer pockets."

When Willie had disappeared Jenny turned and looked at Claire.

"The lad is sweet and kind and full of nature," Jenny had said, "But he'd do well with some nurture to go with it, ye ken?"

Claire took a moment to absorb those words and then nodded to Jenny in understanding.

The choice had already been made. In choosing Jamie, she had chosen Willie, too.

* * *

Claire saw the truth of Jenny's words for herself during that afternoon she spent with Willie. The boy was eager to learn and took a great joy in being helpful. They spent the day in amiable company, chatting about this and that. He told her all about Helwater and the groom, Mac. He brought her to his favourite places in Lallybroch and when they set themselves down in the garden he listened, enraptured, as Claire told him all the various medicinal uses for each plant.

Towards the end of the day, when they were preparing to make their way back to the house, Willie's tentative voice broke the peace of the evening.

"Claire?" he asked.

"Hmm? Yes,Willie?" Claire answered distractedly.

"Brianna is my sister, yes?"

_Oh._

"Yes, that's true," Claire answered hesitantly. She had a sinking suspicion where this was going.

"And you are her mother? And Mac's wife?"

_Oh God._

"Yes, that's right."

"And you're English? Like me?" he said, voice taking on a bit more urgency.

_Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ._

"Yes, I am," Claire answered finally.

"So… does that… are you, are you _my_ mother, too?" he asked, voice so infused with hope Claire thought she might die from the depth of it.

"Oh darling," Claire said, pulling Willie into her arms.

She wanted to burst into tears.

_This boy, this sweet little boy._

"I am so very sorry to say that I am not your mother, Willie. But I think I would have been very lucky indeed if I had been."

His face fell and he looked down at his hands. He waited a few moments before speaking again.

"Do you think perhaps we could share?"

Claire looked at him speechless.

"Brianna asked me to share Mac with her," he informed her, still having not produced a response.

"Oh yes?"

He nodded solemnly.

"She said she would share you with me, too."

"Oh indeed. A sound arrangement, I would say."

"You don't mind?" he asked, cautiously.

Claire smiled, beamed even, so infused with affection for this little child and his sister.

"I think it is a splendid idea! Shall we shake on it?"

"Shake?" he asked perplexed.

Claire stood him up and then got to her own feet. Once upright she extended her palm to him and indicated for him to put forth his own hand. Claire then clasped his hand, gave a gentle squeeze and a quick bob up and down and said, "Pleasure doing business with you!"

Willie shook with laughter at this odd behaviour but returned the gesture with gusto.

The deal done, they gathered their things and began making their way home for supper.

* * *

They did not speak at first, both nervous and unsure. Occasionally they would turn and smile at each other shyly and then revert their eyes and continue on their way up the mountain. They observed this excruciating politeness until they reached the stables and Brianna's eyes grew ten sizes when she saw the horses.

"These are all your horses?" Brianna asked, excitedly.

"Oh aye," Jamie said, relieved to at last have found a topic of conversation. "They are the estates horses. Do ye ride yourself then?"

Brianna nodded her head and walked over to the first stall and began to stroke the horse's nose. "I haven't done it in a long time, but I grew up riding. "

"Aye, your Mam was a grand horsewoman. Could ride in any conditions and not complain about it."

"You rode together? She never seemed to like it when I would go riding," she said in confusion.

Sadness shadowed Jamie's, "Perhaps it pained yer mam, a nighean. To be around the horses, ye ken? Tis hard to remember what is lost," he suggested carefully.

Brianna blinked. It struck her that while Jamie was unknown to her, he _knew_ her mother. Maybe more than she did. The thought both comforted and chaffed her all at once.

"But aye," Jamie continued in a lighter tone, preparing the horses to ride as he spoke. "We've ridden all over Scotland, England and France… during the war, ye ken?"

Brianna grew quiet again at yet another reminder of her parents' life… and parting.

Jamie studied her from the corner of his and eye and as if reading her mind he said, "Dinna fash, lass, there are good memories, too."

She smiled at him, warmed by the sweet concern in his voice. "Dinna fash?" she asked, "What does that mean?"

"Don't worry," he said softly, slowly reaching out to cup her cheek, as if he couldn't quite help himself.

His hand was big and warm against her skin and she could not help but turn into his comforting touch. He smiled down at her, a genuine look of love and tenderness shining from his eyes and she felt something cold and painful release inside her, like an old lock that had finally been opened. She placed her own hand over his and squeezed.

"Are ye up for a ride then? I can show ye the lands and such," he asked her hopefully.

Brianna smiled at him and nodded her head. "Yes, I'd like that."

"Take yer pick then," he said, indicating to the horses, "and we'll be on our way."

* * *

By noon they were famished and so Jamie led them to the old Broch where they could sit and look out at the land while they ate their food.

When they were finished Brianna waited a few moments and then reached into her pack and brought out the small parcel of pictures she and her mother had prepared.

"There's something I'd like to show you, if you don't mind?" she asked tentatively.

He smiled eagerly at her and Brianna's heart throbbed a little bit with love for this new found father.

"When we thought Mom would go through on her own she wanted to take something with her to show you, of me," she said, unpacking the bundle of pictures and carefully handing them to Jamie.

He cradled them in his palm, as if they were made of the most fragile china, liable to shatter at any moment.

"These are called photographs," Brianna said, "they are captured by a device called a camera. It allows you to print images of moments of your life that you can keep forever."

"A memory ye can hold in yer hand," he said softly, still staring tenderly at the first picture in the bundle. Brianna on her first birthday, cake covering her face and beaming wildly.

"Yes, exactly" Brianna said smiling, "this was my first birthday."

"Och but ye were a bonnie wee thing," he said wistfully, carefully tracing her cheek in the picture.

She leaned forward, "There's more," she said and then slowly went through the bundle, one by one.

Brianna never took her eyes off Jamie. He was entranced, utterly spellbound to behold moments of his child's life that had been so cruelly denied to him. As they made their way through the pile he responded emphatically to each image.

A hearty sound of delight at the picture of her at age nine sitting on her horse, Smokey, back straight and smiling at the camera.

A deep sigh of contentment at the image of her in her First Holy Communion gown. The gold of her crucifix glinting against the pristine white of her dress.

He made an indistinct sound of astonishment when he saw the picture of her frantically opening her presents on Christmas morning. The Christmas tree a bright and shining spectacle of colour beside her and the room laden with warm flourishes of red and green and gold.

"That was Christmas morning," she said quietly beside him, mesmerised herself with his reactions.

He looked at her in wonder, " _This?_ _This is Christmas?_ "

She nodded her head and smiled at him.

"Oh aye, I see what yer mam was talking about now. Tis a lovely thing, no?"

Brianna laughed, "Yes it is!"

Finally, they came to the image of her standing in front of the plane. He gasped and swung his head towards her in amazement.

"Mom said you'd like that one," she said laughing, "That's the plane we flew on to come to England."

" _A Dhia_ ," he said under his breath, it sounded like _a yeehaw_ to Bree but she was sure that wasn't the case.

"And it just stays in the sky, it doesna fall nor flap its wings?"

He asked the question earnestly but Brianna could not stop herself from laughing.

He laughed along with her, seeing from her reaction that he had said something foolish.

"Ye look like yer mam when ye laugh," he said, a look between satisfaction and pride warming his face.

"You think?" she asked, so used to people commenting on how she _doesn't_ resemble either of her parents.

"Aye," he said, love bursting from him, "tis the way ye crinkle yer eyes. Ye look like yer up to divilment, just like your mam."

She beamed at him, warmed to her backbone by the idea. She was beginning to feel part of something bigger than herself. This land and these two people who made her.

"I have one more picture to show you, if you're up for it?" she asked.

"Oh aye!" he answered enthusiastically, settling himself in for more.

"Mom doesn't know I included this. I slipped it in as a surprise. I thought you'd like to know what she was like, in her own time?"

It seemed to Brianna that the very notion of seeing Claire in her own time had rendered Jamie speechless and he nodded to her wordlessly.

Brianna handed Jamie a picture of Claire at the beach. She wore a black bikini and huge sunglasses. She leaned back on one hand and folded her knees to the side, smiling warmly at the camera.

" _Jesus God, Sassenach_ " he said under his breath, "What happened to her clothes?"

"Dinna fash," Brianna said teasingly, "That's just what women wear when they go swimming."

"Oh aye?" he said, not quite believing her. He stared at the picture for a time, a small sad smile tugging at his lips.

"She looks happy," he said quietly.

He turned to Brianna, "Was she? Happy?"

Brianna grew solemn and gave herself a moment to think before answering.

"I used to think so," she said, honestly. She turned to look at Jamie and held his gaze, "But I don't think I really knew Mom until I found out about all of this." She paused again, considering and then said in a soft, awed voice, "I've never seen her smile at anyone the way she smiled at you this morning."

Jamie blushed slightly but Brianna noticed the tightness in his shoulders ease a little.

"I will do all in my power to keep yer mother smiling, mo nighean ruaidh, I swear it."

Brianna took in those and knew that he meant what he said. It was not just mere sentiment, but rather a vow.

"There's one last thing," Brianna said, pulling a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and giving it Jamie.

He opened it gingerly and spread it on his lap revealing a drawing of Claire in a hospital bed, holding a newly born Bree. Jamie made an inarticulate sound and gasped, " _Jesus God_.".

"That's a drawing of a picture that was taken the day I was born," Brianna said softly. "I thought about giving the picture to Mom to bring with her but I couldn't bare the thought of losing it so I decided to draw it myself and have Mom give this to you instead. That all went out the window when I decided to come too, though," she said laughing faintly.

Jamie sniffed and blinked back tears, turning to Brianna. "Thank you, mo leanabh, truly. You have made an auld man verra, verra happy."

Brianna felt suddenly overwhelmed and tears prickled at her own eyes. "Thank you, for giving her to me. I'm sorry… I'm sorry I kept you apart so long. I wish--"

Brianna broke down sobbing, guilt and immense emotion overtaking her. Jamie's face crumpled and he leaned forward to pull her to him.

"Och no, lass! Dinna be sorry. We did what we must to keep ye from danger. We'd do it again if needed. You were our dream, a leanabh, there was no anything we wouldn't do to see ye safe. _Whist, mo nighean, bi suaimhneach_. We're here together now, aye?"

He held her like that for some time. Stroking her hair and occasionally kissing the crown of her head. He spoke a stream of soothing nonsense in Gaelic and English and Brianna felt herself relax into him, savouring the solid, warm strength of him.

As the day began to darken she sat up again and without a word they silently climbed down the Broch and made their way home. Father and daughter walking side by side, heads turned to each other, talking contentedly.

* * *

Later that night they all came together to have dinner and share the happenings of their day.

In Boston, the Randalls had lived a quiet, reserved life. To be in Lallybroch, surrounded by the life and bustle of a happy family warmed Claire to the bones.

With Brianna's return Willie had lost all reign on his gentlemanly virtue and had taken up with his sister once more. He sat between her and Jamie now, updating them on the new familial arrangements. Claire sat on the other side of Jamie and from the corner of her eye watched him watch his children. His face lit with pride and love.

Across the table, Jenny watched them all. She had remained civil during the meal, mildly pacified by Jamie's happy demeanor and the presence of the children. But as the night wore on and Willie went to bed (insisting most vigorously on shaking everyone's hand before he left the table) and the talk grew more quiet, breaking off into smaller pairings, she began to make sounds of displeasure, until eventually she was slamming plates and cutlery about as she tidied up.

"Mo chridhe, dinna fash, the mess will keep. Will ye no sit down and enjoy the evening with us?" Ian asked her.

This only caused Jenny to tear through the table even more ferociously. Claire shared a look with Jamie and he took her hand in his and squeezed it, nodding his head.

Claire took a deep breath and then turned to speak to her sister-in-law.

"Jenny, I believe I agreed to answer some questions you have?" she said, tentatively.

Jenny snorted, not appeased in the least, and slammed the plates down on the table.

"Oh aye? Ye remember then? Ye've only been avoiding me the whole evening now!"

"Janet," Jamie said, voice low and dangerous. "Gie on with it, aye."

Jenny glowered at her brother but she sat down again and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Where have ye been all these years?" she asked, hurt beginning to creep back into her voice.

"I have been in Boston, in America, that is, the New World," Claire answered.

"And ye no could have informed any of us of that? No a letter? No nothin'?"

This is when it began to get tricky for Claire but there was no help for it. It must be done.

She turned to Brianna, "Darling, will you fetch the pictures, please."

Brianna's eyes grew wide but she nodded and turned to Jamie. He pulled them out of his pocket and looked at them reverently for a few seconds. He took one picture in particular out of the bundle and put it back in his pocket before he set them down in front of Claire.

Claire raised an eyebrow at him in question. He blushed slightly and waved his hand as if to say he'd tell her later. Claire nodded and turned her attention back to Jenny.

"Do you know the story of the Woman of Balnain?" she finally asked.

Jenny looked between Claire and Jamie, narrowing her eyes.

"Aye," she said cautiously, "A lass falls two hundred years through time."

Claire nodded her head.

"And do you remember, when Jamie was taken by the Redcoats, just after Maggie was born? I told you to plant potatoes?"

Jenny grew restless in her chair and drew her shawl more tightly around her as if chilled.

"Aye, ye said there would be a famine," she answered finally. "What exactly are ye saying me Claire?"

"I am saying that I am the Woman of Balnain, or at least, I fell through time, just as the story says."

Jenny looked between Claire and Jamie and then again settled her gaze back on Claire.

"That's no funny, Claire."

"That's what I said when she told me, too!" Brianna piped in from the end of the table. Jamie's mouth twitched in amusement but he suppressed the urge to laugh when he saw the look on his sister's face.

"It's true, mo phiuthar," he said to her, eyes meeting across the table. "I swear it."

Claire picked up the pictures and walked over to the other side of the table to sit beside Jenny. "I have proof," she said, offering Jenny the bundle of photographs.

Jenny took them in her hand and her eyes grew round as she looked through them, Ian's head at her shoulder, muttering under his breath in Gaidhlig.

"These are photographs," Claire said, leaning forward. "There is a machine in the future that can capture a moment and print it for keeping. These are some of those printed moments of Brianna growing up."

"Yer witches?" Jenny asked, eye cocked at Claire and Brianna.

"Oh no! I wouldn't say that," Claire answered hastily, images of Cranesmuir bombarding her mind.

"Faeries, then?" Jenny tried again.

"I don't think so?" Brianna said uncertainly, looking at her mother for support.

"No matter," Jenny said with a wave of her hand and continued to look through the pictures.

"I sent Claire back through the Stones at Craigh na Dun the morning of Culloden," Jamie said quietly, picking up the story. "We kent what would come of the Highlands in the years after. We had been trying to stop it, ye ken. She was carrying Brianna at the time and so I made her go. I thought I would die on the field that day, Jenny. Claire was a known Jacobite and Red Jamie's wife too boot. I couldna let her-- I had to see her safe."

Jamie's voice had grown thick with emotion as he spoke, remembering that awful day. Claire put her hand over his on the table. _I'm here. It's over. We're together._

Jenny didn't speak for a time and instead looked between them both at length.

"And why are ye back now, Claire? Why not ten years ago or the week after the battle even?"

"Jenny," Jamie said, voice low and threatening in his throat.

"No, it's a fair question, Jamie," she said, placing her hand on his arm to quiet him.

Claire swallowed, wrestling with her own guilt and finally looked up at her sister-in-law.

"I am here now because now is when we found Jamie. I had thought he had died at the battle all these years. If I had known he lived, Jenny, I would have come immediately. Believe that of me, if nothing else."

Jenny made _hmming_ noises in the back of her throat and looked between the pictures in her hands and Claire and Jamie's faces.

At last, she set the pictures down and glared at them both.

"Yer clothheided fools, the pair of ye!"

Claire and Jamie blinked in surprise and stared at Jenny.

"Did it no occur to either one of ye to just tell us the truth?"

"Well--"

"I--"

Jenny dismissed them both with a wave of her hand and the cluck of her tongue.

"Is there anything else yer hiding?"

Claire and Jamie looked at each other, as if to check. And then turned back to Jenny.

"Erm… no--"

"Not that I-"

"Right, then I only have two questions for the both of ye," Jenny said, pinning them both to their seats.

"Do ye love my brother?" she demanded of Claire.

"Oh! Um… yes, yes I do."

"And do ye plan on leaving again?"

"No, I--"

"Grand!" Jenny said, before Claire could even finish.

She then rounded on Jamie.

"And you, ye wee fool."

"Now, Jenny, that's--"

"Whist," she said holding up her hand, "I'm no finished."

"Do ye love yer wife?"

"Of course I do!"

"And do ye plan on keeping things from me again?"

"No, I promise. I'll no deceive ye again."

"Good!" she said, standing up and reaching across the table for a bottle of whisky.

"If ye ever lie to me again I'll box yer ears in for ye, ye ken?"

Claire and Jamie both nodded dumbly.

"Right, let's have a wee dram shall we? Come niece, it's high time ye got drunk with yer mother and aunt."

With that Jenny got up, bottle and glasses in hand, and trotted off to the parlour. Claire and Brianna exchanged bemused looks at the table and jumped in their seats when Jenny bellowed, "Come on yon witches, I willna drink alone. The men can see to the clearing up."

Claire and Brianna rose quickly from their chairs and like two naughty children, followed after Jenny.

* * *

Jamie and Ian sat staring at each other, speechless, across the table. At length they looked from each other, to the mess, and then back again. Eventually, Ian got and up and said smirking, "I'll wash and you dry, aye?"

* * *

A little while later Jamie made his way to the parlour to find the women well into their cups and crowing with laughter. Jamie's eyes settled on Brianna who sat beside Jenny on the couch, her head resting on her folder arms as they lay propped on the rest, a dazedly happy expression on her face.

"I see ye've gotten my daughter drunk," Jamie said to Jenny, his mouth twitching in amusement.

Brianna jolted at the sound of his voice and looked at him, overly innocent. "I'm _fine_ , promise. I've only had four drinks," she said solemnly, holding up five fingers. "Small ones."

"Oh aye," Jamie said, trying to seem imposing while holding in his laughter.

He watched Claire from the corner of his eye and he could see her face beaming with happiness. "Come here, darling," she said, patting the space beside her. "There's plenty to go around."

Jamie gladly made his way over to his wife, Ian following into the room behind him, more drink and glasses in his hand.

When they all had their drinks filled Ian stood tall and raised his glass to the room and toasted to their health.

An air of peace and warmth enfolded the room, infusing them with a deep sense of occasion. They did not speak, but instead they slowly, one by one, met each other's gaze, silently acknowledging the depth of meaning to the moment.

Jamie felt his heart swell with happiness and finally he raised his glass and said, softly, "To family."


	10. The Silver Apples of the Moon, The Golden Apples of the Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it guys, the Frasers will wander no more. This is a final short epilogue to gently wrap things up.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read and commented on this story. It was so encouraging to see people respond to this. You’ll never know much I appreciated every word, emoji and gif.
> 
> The chapter title is taken from the same Yeats poem that the fic’s title comes from, The Song of the Wandering Aengus.

And so their life together began anew.

The emptiness of Jamie's days were now filled with the smiles and laughter of his children and his wife's tender kiss.

He moved out of the mill and down to the house again. He and Claire taking up residence in a new room of their own. He was not Laird but with Claire by his side, he did not need to be.

At Brianna's suggestion they began restoring the mill and already Claire had her eyes fixed on it as an ideal location for a surgery. The folk were wary of the Sassenach woman, the Stuart White Witch, yet every day more people came and left with the word of her remedies and healing touch.

Willie thrived, like a flower turning its head to the sun, he bloomed under the warm light of their new formed family. With his gentle, eager way he bound them all together. His questions and enthusiasm for all life put before him knit them together as one. Jamie had always known the boy to be a blessing on his soul but he was reminded again in the chance he provided both he and Claire to raise a child together. Restoring a hope that had long died in his heart.

As sweet as his days were, his nights were sweeter still. With their work done and their supper eaten they would retire, all four, to the bedroom. Taking turns, he, then Claire, and sometimes Brianna, told stories until they all grew heavy with sleep and the children ambled off, or were carried, to their own beds.

It was on such a night that he now sat, the comforting patter of rain at the window, thanking God for all he had been given.

He looked up from his daughter, asleep at his side, head resting upon a pillow between he and Claire, and watched his wife hold his son in her arms. Willie was wrapped in a shawl and she cradled him like the infant he still took on the aspect of in his sleep. Claire smiled at Willie, tenderly stroking the softness of his cherub cheek as he snored quietly. Chuckling to herself she pulled him tighter to her, arm solid and protective at his back. Mothering him in the way his own mother never could.

Jamie felt his heart clench and tears blur his vision for a moment. He was struck, humbled beyond all reason that a sinner such as he could find himself blessed with gifts the like of this.

"Sassenach," he called softly from across the bed, his hand still resting on the crown of Brianna's head.

Claire looked up from stroking Willie's cheek and smiled at him, "Hmm?"

"I love you," he said. His eyes shining with joy and something else, something deeper, like humility or maybe gratitude.

She returned his smile and quietly said, "I love you, too."

His heart throbbed in his chest. No matter the number of times he said it to her nor he heard her say it to him, those three words set his heart to aching.

"What was it ye said, at the end of yon story ye told the bairns?"

She chuckled softly and Jamie knew she was laughing at his insistence of calling Brianna a bairn. He knew she was a woman grown, her long frame sprawled along the bed illustrated that well enough, but to him she was brand new and he could not escape the feeling that she was, _would always be_ , his wee bairn.

When Claire finally replied, she did so tenderly, in a whisper, unwilling to disturb the gentle stillness of the room.

" _And they all lived happily ever after._ "

He sighed with contentment and stroked Brianna's hair again before meeting Claire's eyes.

"'Twas so. A good ending, aye?"

"Yes, it's a good ending," she replied softly, holding his gaze.

They stayed like that, wrapped in the comfort of their hearth and home for some time. Until finally, Jamie gently woke Brianna and she shuffled to bed, a kiss on each cheek from her mother and father sending her on her way.

Jamie bent to take Willie from Claire's arms and she held the boy to her for a moment longer and then moved her hand from Willie's cheek to cup Jamie's. "My love," she whispered and rose to kiss his lips before she released the child from her embrace. Jamie straightened and carried Willie to bed.

When he returned to their room he found Claire waiting for him, her shift draped over the chair beside the bed and the blanket pulled up around her bare shoulders. He stripped off his own clothes and moved under the covers and folded her into his arms. He placed a soft kiss to her neck and felt her shiver, bringing his hand to her lips to return the gesture.

They pulled each other close again and the sound of the rain falling from the eaves outside the window was like peace descending from the heavens.

And so they slept, the knowledge of their children safe in their beds and the love of each other sure in their hearts, warming them through the night.


End file.
